


Love by the Letter

by AgentJoanneMills



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Romance, alternative universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 39,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3311999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentJoanneMills/pseuds/AgentJoanneMills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These may be read as stand-alone fics.<br/>These may be happening in different universes.<br/>Characters supposed to be dead may be alive.<br/>Characters supposed to be alive may be dead.<br/>Some characters may have been imported from other series.</p><p>A series of stuff, alphabet-style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Apartment

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter length varies.  
> This is free-form.
> 
> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Moving in  
> \- Established Relationship

 

It isn’t quite 7 in the morning yet when Natasha wakes up. It’s early spring and there is still a cold bite in the air left over from the previous winter. She’s not particularly affected by it, since she’s Russian by blood and she knows what _cold_ is, but she still wants to burrow beneath the covers. And maybe sleep some more.

She can feel her girlfriend’s body behind her – an arm slung protectively over her torso, warm breath tickling Natasha’s nape – and she turns as carefully as she can to take a look.

Her gaze roams over Maria’s face and drinks in her every feature – her strong jaw and prominent cheekbones, her chiseled nose, the delightfully long lashes of her eyes still closed in slumber, but which Natasha knows to be of the most gorgeous shade of blue – just as she’s done a million times before.

She knows she will never get tired of doing so.

Maria is the best thing that has ever happened to Natasha.

And Natasha loves her with all of her heart.

Gently she lets her fingertips trace Maria’s cheek, and Natasha is again struck by the fact that she’s here. That she’s real.

And that she chooses to be with Natasha because she loves her back.

**  
**

 

Loving someone is not something Natasha has ever imagined for herself. And to have that someone return her feelings – all the while knowing her every fault, her past, her fears, her _everything_ – well, Natasha has certainly never thought that to be even possible.

Natasha believed herself to be damaged beyond repair. She believed herself to be just a tool, just a weapon.

Just someone who has no real identity.

Just someone who becomes what other people wish her to be.

She believed that all her life.

But Maria – with all her steely gaze and no-nonsense attitude – razed that belief to the ground and encouraged Natasha to see herself as someone she wants herself to be.

 _To be_ someone she wants herself to be – not caring about what others think.

It’s liberating – it certainly liberated Natasha from her inner demons.

And for the first time she’s someone who is _real_.

Aside from Maria’s love, her own liberty is the greatest gift that Natasha has ever received.

**  
**

 

“Why are you awake?” a voice husky with sleep cuts across Natasha’s musings.

Maria’s eyes are still closed, but her eyebrows are furrowed in a pretty little frown.

“Nothing,” Natasha whispers. “Sorry. Did I disturb you?”

“No, but I can hear you thinking loudly.” A blue eye peeks at her. “It’s too early for that.”

Natasha giggles quietly. On normal days Maria is the perfect working machine – no matter how late or how early the hour, if she’s on duty, she’ll get the job done without a hitch. But on her rare days off, it’s like she sheds her Ice Queen persona and dons that of an average woman.

(Not that she’d ever be average in Natasha’s eyes.)

She snuggles closer to Maria – as close as is physically achievable – and nestles her head on the brunette’s shoulder. “I’d do that later then.”

“Good.” Maria’s arms tighten around her, her cheek lightly resting on top of Natasha’s head.

“Yeah,” Natasha closes her eyes, and it isn’t long before Maria’s steady breathing and warm embrace has lulled her back to sleep.

 

****

**  
**

It’s almost lunchtime when Maria finally manages to haul herself out of bed.

Natasha is already perched on the kitchen counter, a mug of coffee in her hands. There is another one beside her, which Maria takes as she steps between Natasha’s legs.

The position allows the redhead to lean down and press a kiss on Maria’s lips – and so she does, after letting Maria ingest some caffeine first.

“Good morning,” Natasha greets.

She hums, savoring the coffee-flavored kiss. “You like being taller than me, do you?”

“Yep, I can certainly see the appeal,” Natasha admits. She adds, teasingly, “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Maria grins. “Ah, found out. Damn.”

 

They eat some brunch Natasha has put together afterwards – Maria lets Natasha experiment in her kitchen, and Natasha takes full advantage of it. The results vary, but most of the time they’re satisfying enough that Maria often doesn’t really mind if her oven gets jammed or her skillets broken.

(Those are anticipated hazards when one gives a highly-skilled assassin free reign in the kitchen, so.)

 

****

 

Natasha notices Maria’s brooding mood as soon they’ve settled on the couch to watch some crime show reruns. Normally she’d comment on each detail the writers get wrong and would laugh at some absurd twist that she somehow saw coming from a mile away.

Today, however, she is uncharacteristically quiet.

At first Natasha shrugged it off; she thinks that if it were something grave Maria would tell her at her own time.

At the moment though, she’s getting kind of uneasy.

Maria’s studying the place with an unreadable expression.

Natasha’s always been good at reading people but – and this is so cheesy she will never admit it, especially to Clint – Maria has always been her exception.

And so all she can do is to study the room too, just to try and guess what is running in the brunette’s mind.

She internally winces at what she _does_ see.

Maria’s originally pristine apartment is now littered with Natasha’s things.

There are random pieces from Natasha’s wardrobe scattered haphazardly all over the room – pairs of boots and sneakers and pumps, several blazers strewn on the adjacent sofa, her favorite tactical suit, and she counts at least four scarves.

And the redhead is pretty certain there’s more of her stuff in Maria’s bedroom. She distinctly remembers seeing one of her comic books on the bedside table.

Shit. No wonder she’s on a strange mood.

It’s like Natasha’s taken over her apartment.

Natasha bites her lip anxiously. Usually she doesn’t care about intruding on anyone’s private space – she has no issues whatsoever in crashing in with Clint on his bed or in using Phil’s bathroom products.

With Maria it’s different.

Natasha doesn’t want to screw this up.

So she makes a decision.

She rises from where she’s comfortably sitting with Maria and begins picking up her clutter.

She’s sitting on the carpet with a stack of other clothes beside her and is in the middle of folding her tactical suit when the TV volume lowers.

“Nat?”

“Hmm?” Natasha glances at Maria.

Maria looks perplexed. “What’s up?” she asks.

Natasha shrugs, picture-perfect nonchalance. She knows Maria sees through it. “Just taking care of my stuff.”

Maria looks even more lost.

Natasha explains, “I figured I should take them back to my place.” (She’s got her big duffel bag back in the bedroom, she’s sure – she brought it with her last week.) She swallows, not meeting Maria’s eyes. “I realize I’ve been imposing too much.”

Maria frowns at her words. “You’re not.”

“I kind of am.” She waves at the room, in general. “Look at the mess I’ve made in your apartment.”

It takes a few seconds before understanding seems to light up in Maria’s eyes. “Ah.”

“Yeah,” Natasha mumbles. She looks down to resume folding.

Then Maria’s hands are on her wrists, stopping her movement.

She looks up.

Maria is staring at her with a mix of adoration, bemusement, and frustration.

It throws Natasha off.

Maria shakes her head. She shifts so that she’s seated more comfortably on the floor, facing Natasha. She slides her hands so that they’re clutching Natasha’s, her thumbs running over the redhead’s knuckles. She purses her lips, and it’s clear that she’s thinking of how to phrase her thoughts best.

Her demeanor is anxious now, Natasha notes. She stares at Maria’s blue eyes and squeezes her hands to try and ease her nerves.

Maria sends her a grateful smile. “So,” she begins, then she clears her throat awkwardly – and Natasha finds it adorable that the meticulous agent could ever stumble over her words, “I’m planning to look for another place.”

Natasha blinks, confused.

Seeing her growing puzzlement, Maria adds, “Somewhere bigger, ideally.”

If that’s supposed to clear things up, it’s not successful.

Maria holds Natasha’s gaze. Natasha realizes that she’s searching for a glimmer of comprehension.

She doesn’t find it though, because, well – and Natasha finds this embarrassing to admit – it’s not there.

When it becomes abundantly clear that Natasha wouldn’t catch on, Maria says with a wry grin, “For all your training on people skills and extensive knowledge of human behaviour, you’re still pretty fucking oblivious most of the time.”

“Uhm,” Natasha is even more confused, now. “Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” Maria sighs, deeply – it is a fond sound, if slightly exasperated. Then she says in a rush, “Moveinwithme.”

Natasha’s eyebrows are creasing in mystification. “Move in,” she says.

Maria’s jaw clenches so hard the muscles tic. “Yes.”

“W-with you.” Natasha does not stammer. Well, she thought she didn’t. Apparently she does, when it comes to Maria.

(It always comes back to Maria.)

Maria chuckles softly. “I’m kinda hoping that if you ever move in with someone it would be with me, yes.”

Natasha’s eyes widen as it all starts to sink in. “You… you actually want me to… to actually live with you? Live in a real, actual apartment that we’ll share? Like, we’re going to actually _live together_?”

“Okay, first off, you’re saying the word ‘actually’ like it’s going out of style. Just, stop. Geez. And second,” Maria arches an eyebrow, almost grumpy, “why are you so surprised?”

Natasha looks at her in disbelief. “Because it’s surprising! It’s a big deal! It’s a _huge_ deal!”

“Natasha, honey, be serious,” Maria scoffs, good-humoredly. “You practically live with me already. We’re just gonna make it official.”

Natasha frowns as she mulls over that. She thinks of her various things mixed among Maria’s, and _oh_.

Yeah, okay.

So she _is_ practically living with Maria already.

Still she repeats, “You’re asking me to live with you.”

Maria rolls her eyes but obliges. “Yes, I am.”

“You _want_ me to live with you.”

“Yes, I do. Very much.” She lifts their still joined hands to her lips.

Natasha is looking at her with amazement shining bright in her green eyes.

Maria clears her throat again. “So… uhm… will you?”

She’s just barely finished that question when she finds herself with a lapful of redheaded assassin. “Of course I will! How can you even think that I’d ever say no?”

The impact of Natasha tackling her leads them to being sprawled on the floor – Maria lying flat on her back with an overenthusiastic assassin on top of her.

(It’s not the worst position in the world, that’s for sure.)

“Yeah, well, it’s a bit alarming when you didn’t answer immediately,” Maria confesses, and she’s almost pouting.

Natasha pulls back enough so that her arms bracket Maria’s head. She stares into those blue eyes she so adores. “I needed to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

“You’re not.” Maria smiles lopsidedly, and she takes Natasha’s breath away.

“I know that now.” Natasha presses their foreheads together, never breaking their gaze.

“Good.” Maria reaches up to tenderly stroke Natasha’s lower lip with her thumb. “I love you.”

Natasha beams at her. “I love you too,” she murmurs, before dipping her head and claiming Maria’s lips.

 

****

 

 **Tash** :

Moving in!

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

Uhm. Was that a mission update?

– H

 

 **Tash** :

What. No.

Maria wants me to move in with her.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

OH MY GODS

– H

 

 **Tash** :

I KNOOOOOW. I kinda freaked out when she asked me tbh.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

But you said yes, right? Cuz otherwise I’d shoot you I swear.

– H

 

 **Tash** :

I’M NOT DUMB. OF COURSE I SAID YES. I HUGGED HER YES. I KISSED HER YES.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

EEEWW. KEEP THE DIRTY DETAILS TO YOURSELF PLEZ. AND I WAS JUST CHECKING. YOU GOTTA ADMIT YOU TEND TO ACT KINDA DUMB WHEN MARIA’S AROUND.

– H

 

 **Tash** :

I should kick your ass for that but I’m too happy right now.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

And I’m happy for you too, bb.

Really. :)) Even if you wanna kick my ass.               

– H

 

 **Tash** :

Good. Coz you’re helping us lift the heavy stuff.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

What an opportunistic asshole.

You’re lucky we’re bros.

– H

 

 **Tash** :

Can you not call us bros.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

Nope. I get to call us bros cuz I’m gonna lift stuff for you. So suck it.

– H

 

 **Tash** :

…

I like to bite and to lick more, actually.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

I SAID KEEP THE DIRTY DETAILS TO YOURSELF.

I DID NOT NEED TO KNOW THAT YOU FIEND.

I GOTTA BLEACH MY BRAIN NAO BRB

– H

 

 


	2. Bets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship  
> \- in which the Avengers know about Coulson and his team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

Phil is catching up with Clint, Natasha, and Maria in his office when he notices the video feed.

Skye’s talking to Simmons in the laboratory.

That in itself is not surprising – Skye regularly visits Simmons in the lab and it kind of is their place now, since Fitz opts to hang out in the garage with Mack instead.

The surprising thing is Skye’s expression.

It is adorably shy – something Phil can’t believe Skye’s face is actually capable of doing – and she’s gesturing wildly, like she’s afraid she won’t get out the words she wants to say if she stayed still.

It takes Phil a couple moments to understand what’s going on.

“So they’re finally talking about their feelings,” Clint says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Seems so,” Phil agrees. “At last.”

Seriously. The two have been dancing around each other for months now. It’s kind of becoming painful to watch their clumsy interactions filled with poorly-suppressed longing. Phil’s about _this_ close from locking them up in one of the Playground’s utility closets to force them to discuss their situation.

It turns out that there’s gonna be no need for that though, because just then a smile slowly breaks out across Simmons’s face. Skye’s pointedly staring at the ground, so she doesn’t see it when Simmons steps in close to kiss her.

Phil clears his throat uneasily, scrambling to turn the feed off. “Okay then.” He’s happy for them, he really is, but some things he just doesn’t need to see. Ever. Especially if it involves someone he sees as a daughter.

“I kind of felt like a voyeur, seeing that,” Clint says, mirroring Phil’s thoughts.

Natasha tilts her head with a confused frown. “You mean you aren’t that already?”

“I – hey!” Clint throws a pen at her.

Natasha chuckles, easily catching the makeshift projectile before it hits her face.

Maria turns to Phil.  “Allowing your agents to have relationships now, huh?” she jokes.

“As if your agent status ever stopped you and Natasha,” he teases back.

“Ah, touché.”

Clint adds, with a wink at Phil, “Or you and me.”

Phil has the decency to blush.

Natasha smirks. “Seems like I won the bet, Coulson.”

Phil objects, “But Skye’s the one who confessed!”

“Yes, but Simmons is the one who initiated their kiss,” Natasha defends. “The bet’s on who’s gonna step up and kiss the other, not who’s gonna confess about feelings.”

Clint grins wolfishly. “I knew she has more game than Skye beneath the whole awkward and innocent genius façade.”

Maria seems appalled. She shoots Natasha a chastising look. “You’ve been betting on this kind of stuff?”

Natasha just shrugs. “It’s normal.”

“Normal? _Betting_ over this is normal?”

Clint eyes Maria strangely. “You mean you don’t know about the betting pools back at S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

The brunette scowls. “I didn’t.”

“You should’ve seen how it was when the pools started for you and Natasha,” Phil shakes his head fondly in remembrance. “It was crazy.”

“What about Natasha and me?”

“Who’s going to make the first move,” Natasha tells her. “It lasted for months.”

Maria seems torn between scandalized and shocked. “They were betting on who between us was going to make the first move,” she repeats, tone flat. “What were they, kids?” Then she squints at the redhead suspiciously. “And you _knew_ about this?”

Natasha nods and explains, “I heard agents talking about it every time I was in the Triskelion. Even the Hub buzzed with it.”

Maria purses her lips in thought.

“How did _you_ not know about that?” Clint asks, curious wonder lacing his tone. “You and Tasha generated the largest pools, like, _ever_. The interest in you guys was pretty overwhelming.”

She glowers at him.

“What, it’s not my fault a lot of us – _them_!” he hastily corrects when Maria’s eyebrows shoot up, “– were exceptionally invested on whether or not you two will get laid by each other.”

It’s obvious in Maria’s glare that she’s uncomfortable with the idea that a lot of people apparently paid significant attention to their private life. She grumbles, “If S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t implode, I would make damn sure those who participated would be in latrine duty for a year.”

Phil doesn’t doubt that, not in the least. Maria doesn’t kid around when it comes to punishments. Still he points out, “If you did then S.H.I.E.L.D. would implode anyway because everybody’s gonna be cleaning the toilets.”

Natasha hums. “On the bright side, we’re gonna have impeccably clean toilets.”

Maria buries her face in her hands.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Clint placates. “Even Steve’s in on it. And you can’t put Captain America in latrine duty.”

“I think he’d still do it though, if told,” Natasha comments. “If anything I think he’d feel guilty about it and would want to make amends.”

“That’s actually not far off,” Phil says.

“I don’t care if he’s America’s golden boy or not,” Maria mutters stubbornly, voice muffled. “Latrine duty.”

“Who did Steve bet on, anyway?” Natasha wants to know. She ignores Maria’s groan.

“You, of course,” Clint answers.

Maria finally lifts her head to face him and she looks insulted. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she protests, tossing a rolled-up paper towel at him.

“Nothing!” he says, blocking it with one of Phil’s folders. “Just that he’s confident about Tasha’s moves!”

Maria crosses her arms defensively. “Meaning?”

“Uh, just that, uhm,” Clint fumbles, sending Phil a pleading look, which he ignores.

Luckily Natasha decides to save him. “Come on, it’s okay, babe,” she soothes Maria, running her fingers through dark hair.

Clint sends her an almost comically grateful nod.

“It’s not!” Maria sulks, though she leans into Natasha’s touch.

“Well, Natasha _did_ make the first move, right?” Phil says.

He receives a very terrifying glare for that.

Nevertheless she acknowledges, although reluctantly, “She did.” She glances at Natasha with a warm glimmer in her eyes, and Natasha holds her gaze.

It’s a short but incredibly sweet exchange.

She looks at Phil then and says with more conviction this time, “She did.” She drops her head on the crook of Natasha’s neck. “I’m still gonna make Rogers pay, though.”

Natasha giggles, putting her arm around Maria. “And I’m right behind you on that,” she promises.

 

Somehow Phil thinks Captain America’s life is gonna get a hell of a lot more complicated.

He just hopes that he won’t be suffering too much.

He looks at Clint and sees the anticipation and mischief written all over his face.

Never mind.

He wishes the Captain luck.

He’s gonna need lots of it.

 

 


	3. Czar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship  
> \- Post-Avengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

The Avengers are on the Stark Tower rooftop, hanging out beneath the velvet canopy of the night.

It’s a regular occurrence; their _thing_ , so to speak.

They find a way to fit these little gatherings into their schedules no matter how busy they happen to be – Steve from his self-imposed civic responsibilities, Bruce and Tony from their R&D projects, Clint and Natasha from their missions, and Thor from his princely duties.

Of course, they also manage to somehow pry Jane and Darcy from their researching, Pepper from her corporate managing and Maria from her co-directing.

More often than not their catching up inevitably evolves into drinking games and truth-or-dares. Sometimes they watch movies in one of Tony’s entertainment dens; sometimes they just stay on the roof to lounge about like lazy cats.

It is during one of the latter instances that an idea suddenly strikes Darcy’s mind.

“Hey,” she begins while looking at the stars, her head resting on Steve’s lap. “I just had a thought.”

“Did it hurt?” Tony asks, mock-serious. Pepper hits him on the head.

“Har-di-har, Ironpants,” Darcy rolls her eyes. “Anyway, as I was saying, I had a thought.”

She sits up and looks at Natasha, who is leaning back on her hands, one of which is entwined with Maria’s.

Natasha merely raises an eyebrow as an encouragement for her to continue.

Darcy leans in, elbows on her knees. “Are you really a Romanov?”

Natasha blinks at her. “Huh?”

“I mean,” Darcy gestures wildly, “you’re named Romanoff, right? So does that mean that, you know, you’re like, _really_ descended from House Romanov and related to Nicholas II and Alexandra and Anastasia and all those stuff?”

Maria is looking at Natasha’s expression carefully, and she knows that Clint is doing so, too. It’s obvious that Darcy means well, but these are dangerous waters to tread on.

Much too dangerous, really, most of the time.

Natasha’s history tends to unearth an existence of pain.

Fortunately, she just smiles, and her expression is warm, genuine.

She squeezes Maria’s hand, a silent message telling her that it’s okay, and Maria feels herself relax.

“I am,” she says, her voice even.

“Whoa, hold up,” Tony says, looking incredulously from Natasha to Maria to Clint, and back to Natasha. “You’re a _true_ Romanov?”

Natasha shrugs.

“Are you saying that you have royal blood?” Tony pushes.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Yes, Stark, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Does that mean that you could be the next czar or something if you want to?” Jane asks and her voice is timid, awed.

“If I ever stepped forward and claimed the bloodline, then probably, yes.”

They need several moments to absorb that.

“Wow,” says Steve. “I thought the Romanovs were all…” he trails off awkwardly, waving a hand.

“Executed by the Bolsheviks?” Natasha picks up, tone dryly amused. Steve grimaces. “Yeah, that’s the official story.”

“So how are you, like, existing?” Darcy asks, frowning thoughtfully.

Natasha can’t help but laugh at her confusion. “Family secret, I think. Scientists never did prove hers was the body they found.”

There is no question which _hers_ she’s referring to.

Darcy is wide-eyed.

Clint snickers. “So Thor’s actually not the only royalty here.”

Thor beams at Natasha and gives her a thumbs-up, making her and the others smile.

(Thor doing something so… _earthly_ – or Midgardian, whatever – never fails to make any of them smile.)

“To the prince and the princess in the team,” says Pepper, raising her glass in salutation.

“Well, if we want to be more precise about this, Natasha is a Grand Princess.” Maria smirks, “Which means she essentially outranks all the other princesses in Europe.”

“What?!” Darcy gawks.

Tony freezes from drinking his champagne, and even Bruce sets down his teacup with a rattle.

“Princesses from the Romanov line are Imperial Highnesses,” Maria explains. “Those from other Houses are just Royal Highnesses.”

Darcy whistles appreciatively.

“Her Imperial Highness Natasha Romanoff,” Bruce says, trying the title out.

Natasha chuckles. “Her Imperial Highness Natalia Alianovna Romanova,” she corrects.

“Romanova?” Darcy asks.

“Russian surnames change according to sex,” she says. “So, yeah, Romanov becomes Romanova. When S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me the chance to have my own identity, I changed it to Romanoff – same pronunciation, different spelling.” Her lips quirk up in a sad half-smile. “Guess I can’t completely let go of my past.”

A somber silence descends after that. Maria grips her hand tighter.

Pepper awkwardly clears her throat. “You have no intention of laying claim to the throne?” she asks, looking at Natasha with a new kind of respect.

Maria sends Pepper a grateful look, and so does Natasha, who gracefully takes the out she offers. “None,” she confirms. She sits up straight, disentangling her hand from Maria’s only to put it on her waist and pull the brunette closer. “I have everything I need here,” she says. Her tone has a teasing lilt, but every one of them can see in her green eyes how sincere she is.

Maria shakes her head, chuckling. She leans to kiss Natasha on the cheek and tucks her head on Natasha’s shoulder.

“You two are so adorably sweet,” Clint coos, chin propped on his hands. Natasha flips a bottle cap at him, which hits him on the forehead. “Hey! I was complimenting you!” he complains, rubbing at the spot huffily.

“I refuse to listen to a peasant,” Natasha says in false haughtiness, effectively cutting through the solemnity that surrounds them.

It causes Thor to chortle, Bruce to snort into his tea, and Steve to cough into his fist, hiding a grin.

Darcy giggles. “That is very cool. Do it again.”

“I am not a pet,” Natasha sniffs, all faux-arrogance. “I would appreciate it if you don’t talk to me that way; it’s very disrespectful.”

Tony pokes her on her side.

“How dare you lay hands on me, you lowlife! You shall pay for that transgression!” she squints at him, and flicks a pebble, hitting him on the stomach.

Tony groans, clutching at his abdomen. “Oww, that stings! And where the hell did that pebble _even_ come from?”

 

 

From there it escalates into a full-on war, with them running around and jumping and generally causing good-natured chaos – Darcy and Jane are having a pillow fight while on Steve’s and Thor’s shoulders, respectively, and Natasha, Clint, Bruce, and Tony are tackling each other.

Maria and Pepper just sit in the sidelines, shaking their heads at the scene before them.

“These are the world’s greatest heroes?” Pepper asks, and her expression is a mixture of amusement, bemusement and exasperation.

Maria heaves a sigh. She grimaces, jokingly. “It’s not very comforting, is it?”

Pepper chuckles and doesn’t disagree.

 

****

 

In the morning Natasha regards the clutter they made with bare disdain, and she orders them to clean up. “I shan’t sully my hands with this mess,” she announces before stalking off.

Darcy is gaping at her, and Natasha catches the younger girl’s gaze and winks conspiratorially. Darcy smiles widely and curtsies, “Yes, Your Imperial Highness.”

Tony grunts, throwing his hands in the air. “Seriously?”

“It seems like a good thing that she has no interest in ruling,” Bruce lightheartedly comments.

“I suppose I can’t use the same strategy to get out of this duty?” Thor asks in jest, picking up a broken bottle.

“I don’t think so,” Steve says, holding a trash bag. “It seems that you’re under her command.”

“Though, politically speaking,” Jane muses, “does Natasha’s status also outrank Asgardian royalty?”

“I haven’t thought about that,” admits Maria.

Tony has a tablet in his hands and he’s typing in commands, tongue peeking out from his lips. “Let’s see how well the princess plays with others,” he mutters.

“Tony,” Pepper sighs.

“There!”

“You know she’s gonna kick your ass and one-up you, right?”

Tony ignores her, and runs inside. “JARVIS! Report.”

“Sir,” JARVIS says, “I don’t think it bothers Her Imperial Highness that much. She seems to take it in stride.”

“ _What_?”

“That’s your big move? Making JARVIS address her as Her Imperial Highness?” Maria scoffs. “You used to be better than that.”

“It’s supposed to irritate her!”

“Have you seen how ready she is to play along?” Maria presses the heel of her hand on her forehead to stave off a headache.

“I-ugh,” Tony groans.

“Lady Hill makes a valid point,” JARVIS agrees.

Maria frowns at the ceiling. “Huh?”

“Additionally, Her Imperial Highness wishes to know if Lady Hill, Lady Potts, Lady Foster, Lady Lewis, Lord Banner, Lord Barton, Lord Rogers, and Lord Thor would like to break their fast with her.”

“JARVIS!” Tony yells. “ _Why are you talking like that_?”

“Her Imperial Highness has commanded me to.”

“She hacked into your system?” Tony shrieks. “And why am I not invited to breakfast?”

“You have displeased Her Imperial Highness, sir, and so you are in charge of cleaning the place.”

“Oh, no, no, no.”

Pepper pats him on her way to the elevator, the others behind her. “Told you she’s gonna one-up you.”

“You guys are leaving me?” he stares after them.

She shrugs and wags a finger at him. “It’s not my fault, Tony.” She smirks. “Her Imperial Highness has spoken.”

With that they leave him on the top floor, JARVIS restricting him from following till he’s done with his chore.

 

 


	4. Detectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Pre-Relationship  
> \- Cop!AU: New partners. Hot hostility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

Maria Hill is _not_ thrilled.

In fact, she is in the opposite side of the world from thrilled.

She is beyond that, even.

 

She’s freaking _pissed_.

 

****

 

She’s on her desk, talking with her colleagues ( _friends_ , they would say) Coulson and Barton, when a booming voice calls for her.

“Detective Hill, a word with you,” Col. Nick Fury (technically he’s the captain of this precinct but he prefers his military title) says as he stands by his office door, looking straight at Maria. He doesn’t wait for an answer before disappearing inside.

Maria shares a quick look with Coulson and Barton, who both raise their eyebrows in a silent indication of _beats me_ , and stands up to follow the colonel. She quickens her pace – the man isn’t really known for his patience.

“Good luck,” she hears Barton say just as the door closes. Then she turns to look at Col. Fury, who’s already seated behind his oak desk.

He wastes no time for preambles – which is expected – and tells her gruffly, “You’re getting a new partner.”

Now _that_ is unexpected.

“Sir,” she says. It’s not a question, but it’s not a statement either.

His eye – and yup, _singular_ , since the other one is hidden beneath an eye patch – regards Maria coolly. “Now I know it seems too soon, and you’re still reeling from Sitwell’s betrayal. I get it, believe me. I wanna gut the motherfucker myself.  But you gotta move on.”

Maria’s jaw clenches at the reminder, but nevertheless she says, “I understand, sir.”

He doesn’t seem to believe that, but he doesn’t push it. “Good,” he says instead. “And you have to do it sooner rather than later.” He slides a file folder across the table.

Maria picks it up with a raised eyebrow.

And she can’t keep the scoff of incredulity that escapes from her lips when she reads whose file it is. “You have got to be kidding me.”

He leans back on his chair. “Problem, detective?”

She meets his stare and doesn’t hesitate to tell him that, “I don’t think this is the best idea, sir.” She has always been honest about what she thinks, and he knows that _she knows_ that he respects her for it.

He nods, as if expecting that reaction. Still he says, “Detective Romanoff’s top of her class in the academy, just as you were. And she’s got quite an impressive record back in Narcotics.”

“Yes, but she’s also got the reputation for blatantly ignoring protocol and winging it during operations,” she argues.

“And you’re a stickler of following rules and procedures,” he shoots back. “You’d balance each other out. They say opposites work better together.”

Somehow Maria doesn’t buy that – she gets the uneasy feeling that Fury’s just playing with her now – and tries again. “She’s a wild card, sir.”

“Then tame her,” he suggests, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Your partner’s gonna arrive any second now, with a case that you’re to solve. _Together_.”

She opens her mouth to reason with him but he stops her, telling her to, “Just work on it, Detective.” He throws a hand, waving her away. “Now go.”

Maria grudgingly does.

And the harsh slam of the door when she shuts it behind her might have been intentional.

 

(It totally is.)

 

****

 

Clint Barton practically jumps off his seat and Phil Coulson – whose post is beside his – nearly spills his coffee when Col. Fury’s door closes with a loud bang.

Only one officer ever gets away with that.

They exchange a grimace when they see Maria’s expression.

It’s almost murderous.

(And they know what that looks like – they put away murderers on a regular basis, after all.)

She marches to her desk – which is conveniently right in front of them – holding a folder.

They wait till she’s settled before wheeling their chairs over.

“That was quick,” Phil comments.

“And judging by that scowl it also went horribly,” Clint adds. He shrugs at the look of exasperation Phil sends him. “What? I don’t sugarcoat things.”

Maria just groans. “I need a cocktail. And a lobotomy.”

“Ow. That bad, huh?” Phil pats her on the shoulder.

“ _Bad_ is an understatement,” she grumbles. “In fact I’d take _bad_ over this right now.”

“What’d he tell you?” Clint asks.

In response she thrusts the folder she’s clutching to his face.

He bats her hand away, grabs the folder. He opens it, and Phil’s also reading it beside him.

Clint whistles, and looks up at her. “New partner?” he guesses.

She makes a face. “Apparently.”

“Shit,” Phil says. “She’s just a newly-promoted detective, right?”

Maria nods.

“Why is Fury saddling you with a newbie?”

“Hell if I know,” she mutters, leaning her elbows on the desk. “I don’t need this right now. I’m not ready for a new partner yet. Actually, I might never be ready for another partner ever again.” She closes her eyes and rubs her temples.

Phil winces in sympathy. Maria’s got bad experiences with partners.

 

 

For partnerships to work, both parties much trust each other explicitly. Of course it’s not an immediate bond, and they need to exert a lot of effort for it, but it’s necessary. And in their line of work – _especially_ in their line of work – partners must be absolutely sure that they have each other’s back.

Maria’s former partner did _not_ have her back.

Jasper Sitwell had been their friend since their academy days, and Maria was happy enough to work with someone she knew. Or thought she knew. It turned out that Sitwell had been planted as a snitch by Hydra, one of the largest crime syndicates in the country, in an elaborate scheme to take down investigations connected to its business dealings.

Maria was the one who discovered this. Half a year ago, while she, Clint, Phil, and Sitwell were drinking in Sitwell’s apartment, she accidentally turned her phone’s recording on. She didn’t realize this until the next morning. While brushing her teeth she listened to what her phone caught: a man came by while the three of them were drunkenly asleep and discussed Hydra plans with Sitwell.

While they were eating eggs and bacon she offhandedly remarked that it was a stupid move – discussing illicit plans when three cops were in the same room – but if not for that blunder they wouldn’t have had caught on.

Sitwell froze up, his mug slipping from his grasp.

Then before any of them can react Maria’s got a gun in her hand and she shot him on his kneecaps.

Her expression barely changed as she put her own partner under arrest.

 

 

Phil understands Maria’s frustration. It’s already difficult for her to establish trust again, but it’d even be more so when the person assigned to her is someone who just got her collars and has an infamous reckless and impulsive personality.

“Give it a chance. Maybe this Romanoff person would surprise you,” he offers.

The look Maria gives him is pure skepticism.

“Yeah, well, hold that thought,” Clint says under his breath.

Phil turns.

“Oh,” Phil says.

Maria looks up.

A woman has just stepped out of the elevator. She has red hair, green eyes, and alabaster skin, and she does not look like a cop at all. Phil idly thinks that she looks better suited for corporate work. Or maybe modeling.

She’s heading to their direction and they see she’s holding a box that he presumes contains her personal effects.

Phil steals a peek at Maria, and he sees that she’s staring at the redhead.

Clint catches his eye. He lifts his eyebrows.

Phil shrugs and wheels his chair back to his designated place.

Clint follows his lead.

 

****

 

Maria is aware – on some shallow level – that Coulson and Barton has returned to their posts. And she’s grateful for that.

This first meeting she has to do by herself.

Maria holds Natasha Romanoff’s green eyes captive as the latter makes her way across the room. She’s about five feet away when Maria finally stands up.

Natasha sets her box on the desk next to Maria’s, and then she steps ever closer, stopping just within Maria’s personal space.

It is intentional.

It is impudent.

And oh _it is so on_.

Maria crosses her arms over her chest and rakes her eyes over the slightly shorter woman’s body, her whole demeanor radiating disdain. “Detective Natasha Romanoff.”

The redhead does not give any sign that she’s in the least concerned about what the brunette thinks of her. She tilts her head minutely. “Detective Maria Hill. We meet at last.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Maria bites out through gritted teeth.

Natasha smirks, obviously seeing that for that lie that it is. Not that Maria particularly cares. “Likewise.”

Maria silently counts to ten, and when Natasha doesn’t look away, she rolls her eyes and decides to get to business. “I hear you have our case.”

Natasha takes a file from the top of her box, and hands it to Maria. “A friend from Narcotics gave a tip regarding the homicide you got yesterday. It seems that the victim Christian Ward is connected to someone from Hydra’s drug ring.”

Maria frowns, opening the file.

Natasha leans on her (new) desk. She watches carefully as Maria studies the documents and connects the dots.

“Holy shit.” Maria looks up. “This is not just someone. This is _the_ someone – fuck, Grant Brett is John Garrett’s deputy.”

“Yeah, which means he knows plenty of what’s going on inside.” Natasha shrugs. “Pierce is grooming Garrett to take over Hydra when the time comes –”

“– and Garrett doesn’t go anywhere without his right hand man,” Maria says.

Natasha nods. “Yes, so if we can tie Brett to Ward’s murder –”

“– we could take him in and work from there,” Maria concludes.

Natasha arches a perfect eyebrow, and she looks fairly amused. “You do realize that –”

“– I’m finishing your sentences, yeah. Sorry.”  She turns to Barton. “Barton, run Grant Brett’s phone records, ATM activities, anything you can find, for this past week and through last month. Cross-reference those with what we dug from Christian Ward. See if anything pops – and even if it’s just remotely suspicious, flag it.”

“Okay,” Barton easily agrees. “But what’s with Ward and Brett?”

She hands him the file. “Grant Brett is Grant Ward by birth. He and Christian are brothers.”

 

****

 

When Maria and Natasha leave to check on a lead, Clint sidles up next to Phil. “So, what’d you think?”

Phil is typing some details for the case. “What do you mean?”

“Come on,” Clint gripes, “You know what.”

Phil stills and looks at Clint seriously.

Clint, being Clint, of course ignores that. “Personally I feel that the seething antipathy they displayed is kind of bordering into sexual tension category.”

“I think they work rather well together,” Phil allows, “despite the somewhat antagonistic flavor to their interactions.”

“Right?” Clint grins. “I mean, that finishing their sentences thing? So adorable.”

“And it’s only their first day.”

“Yeah. And I think Romanoff’s right up Hill’s alley. Totally her type.”

“Does Romanoff even play for that team?” Phil wonders.

“Please,” Clint rolls his eyes. “Did you even hear what I said? Sexual tension. Lots of it.”

“Just because it looks like that doesn’t mean it really _is_ like that.”

Clint snorts. “Trust me, when someone looks at someone else straight in the eyes for more than 5 seconds with that amount of intensity, they either wanna kill the person or fuck them.” He shrugs. “My money’s on the second option, hands down.”

Phil sighs, setting his chin on one hand. He replays the earlier interaction between the two. “Okay, okay. You’re right. I was just trying to give them the benefit of the doubt.”

“Of course I’m right. I’m always right when it comes to these things. You think this could progress if they continue working together?”

Phil considers it. “I don’t see why not.”

“I really hope it does.”

“It’d be good for Maria to open up again,” Phil says. “Even if it’s just as a partner.”

“Yeah, but I bet it’s gonna be more than that.”

Phil shakes his head exasperatedly.

“100 bucks says Romanoff would make the first move.”

“Whatever, Clint.” He goes back to his typing.

Clint takes that as a concurrence. He whoops and beams almost manically.

 

He’s already plotting on how best to befriend Romanoff as he gets back to his desk.

The redhead _has got_ to make the first move.

 

 


	5. Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Pre-Relationship  
> \- In which Clint and Natasha talk about feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

Natasha’s screen blinks 0200 EST when she finally makes her way – stumbles, really – out of her quinjet and into the Helicarrier. She’s pretty sure she has at least two broken ribs, and she can feel the gashes on her legs steadily bleeding. She has a gunshot wound on her left shoulder and left arm, and her right wrist is sprained.

Overall it’s not so bad. Nothing she hasn’t endured before.

She fully intends to just crash on her bed and to stay away from the med bay entirely. She hates that area, and she hates being poked and prodded and observed by the doctors there. And she knows she can easily do the patch-up herself.

After she sleeps, of course. She just _really_ wants to rest right now.

The agents she passes by take one look at her – face wiped clean of emotions, and her strides are purposeful, if a little unsteady – and they have the good sense to avoid blocking her path.

She’s just reached the hallway leading to her quarters when she hears a voice through the intercom.

“Black Widow, report to my office. Immediately.”

Natasha freezes, and so do the agents who happen to be nearby. She glares at them, and they awkwardly scamper off.

There’s no use asking whose voice that is. Everyone in the Helicarrier would recognize it anywhere.

It’s Assistant Director Maria Hill.

And she sounds terribly unhappy with Natasha.

 _Shit_.

What trouble is she in now?

 

****

 

The Assistant Director is leaning on her desk, her arms crossed, when Natasha enters her office.

And she looks certainly, absolutely, positively incensed.

 Natasha attempts to stand as straight as she can.

If the heated glare sent at her is anything to come by, she isn’t doing so well.

She tries her best to avoid gulping.

The Black Widow doesn’t gulp.

The Black Widow doesn’t cower.

The Black Widow doesn’t shrink back from intense glares leveled by gorgeous women with eyes like sapphire.

AD Hill raises one impeccable eyebrow. “Sapphire?” she asks.

Natasha’s left hand twitches. _Fuck_. Did she say that aloud?

“Yes, you did.” AD Hill looks at her weirdly.

 _Oh_ , _boy_. She winces.

It appears that she’s more beat than she originally thought.

There’s still the weird look, but at least AD Hill doesn’t look quite so angry. She sighs heavily. “You have no plans on visiting the med bay.” It’s not a question.

Natasha shrugs – which, okay, kind of hurts. The bullet is still lodged in her shoulder. She fights a grimace. “I can patch me up. I heal faster than average anyway. Superior genetic make-up.”

“I’m aware of that.”

Of course she is.

(It’s on Natasha’s file, and AD Hill is known be very thorough in studying agent files – and she also happens to be the one who wrote Natasha’s.)

“So why am I here?”

AD Hill doesn’t answer, but instead asks a question of her own. “Why are you downplaying your injuries?”

“Because worrying is useless. I’ll be back to prime condition in no time. Besides, there’s no threat of infections or anything ‘cause I’m immune to those, to almost all viruses and bacteria.” She scoffs. “Which I’m sure you’re also already aware of.”

AD Hill ignores the dig. “ _Almost_ all. You still need proper medical attention. You don’t need to take unnecessary risks.”

“My job is kind of synonymous to unnecessary risks,” she says reasonably.

AD Hill’s eyes – and damn, they’re so prettily blue and Natasha really likes them _a lot_ – soften, if only infinitesimally. “And your job’s done for tonight. Follow protocol and go to med bay after every mission.”

 Natasha groans. The woman is insistent, and she’s too exhausted to argue. “Fine.”

“Take care of yourself, Specialist,” she says – and Natasha is surprised to note that her voice is gentler now. Tender, even. “That’s an order.”

Natasha has no choice but to nod. “Understood.”

She doesn’t think she’s capable of disobeying the brunette – not when she’s looking at the spy like _that_.

Like she sees a _person_ , not a killing machine.

It’s unnerving.

It’s addicting.

And it’s so incredibly _Maria_ that were Natasha a lesser being when it comes to controlling herself her breath would have surely hitched at that moment.

Natasha has always been taken with the Assistant Director, always found herself wanting to prove that Hill wasn’t wrong in trusting her. Aside from Clint – who is like the brother she never had – she has been the only one who saw past the red in her ledger.

(When the Hawk first brought her to S.H.I.E.L.D., everyone viewed her with unconcealed suspicion and distrust. Some still do. But never Hill. She looked at the Black Widow then – that was one of the very few moments when Natasha wasn’t able to read someone – and she asked the Hawk if he’s sure with her, and he answered in the affirmative. Agent Hill – not yet a deputy, at the time – nodded, and that’s it.)

AD Hill regards her a few more seconds before tilting her head to the door. “Good. Dismissed.”

Natasha turns and leaves.

 

She sighs. The med bay is a long way from her bed.

 _Dammit_.

 

****

 

It is only later, after nine hours of medication and sleep – and fine, the med bay’s bunks are kind of softer than the bed in her room – does Natasha wonder how AD Hill even knew where she was and when she came in.

And the way those blue eyes stared at her… were Natasha the type to hope, she’d say that Maria stared at her with real affection.

She shakes her head. No, she can’t delude herself into believing that. As if someone like Maria could ever feel anything for her.

A question still remains with her though.

Why was AD Hill so adamant about Natasha taking care of herself?

Natasha isn’t familiar with the feeling of someone worrying over her.

It’s… baffling, to say the least.

 

****

 

Some Level 3 agent is charged with Natasha’s debriefing. She doesn’t make it any more difficult for him. The thrill of tormenting agents is kind of waning, anyway.

(Also, her mind is otherwise preoccupied – thinking of chiseled jaws and dark hair and intense sapphire eyes.)

When Coulson talks to her that afternoon, he congratulates her for easing up on the bullying.

She rolls her eyes and ignores him afterwards.

 

****

 

“Coulson’s our handler.” Natasha states, lying on the hammock they set up on one of the Hawk’s nests.

Clint looks up. He’s sitting Indian-style on the floor, cleaning his bow. (He’s very particular with his bow.) “Uh, yeah?”

“Do you think Maria Hill also keeps an eye on our missions?”

“Possibly. I suppose she’s got the clearance to do that if she wants.” Clint frowns. “But I think she does. Some of our missions have significant effects on other operations, so.”

“Hmm.”

“I mean, she’s second-in-command, obviously she’s ranked higher than Phil, which gives her access to basically everything. And she’s really into details. You know that. So if we have, like, important assignments, I think she’d wanna check in.”

“Hmm.”

Clint sets his bow aside. “What brought this on?”

“Nothing.”

“Tasha.”

She looks at him. “I just... last week, after my mission in Poona and you were still in Manila, I came here to crash, yeah? And you know I never go to the med bay ever, right?”

Clint nods.

“So I was making my way to my room, but then Hill paged me through the intercom, wanted me to report to her office.”

“And?”

“And I thought that I did something wrong, or that I was in some kind of trouble. Just the usual stuff, you know? But she…” Natasha trails off, searching for the right word. “She _berated_ me.” She frowns pensively. “For not seeking proper medical assistance. For not taking care of myself.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s weird, right?”

Clint nods again. “She never does that.”

“Never?”

“Totally.” Clint nods some more. “There’s a reason she’s called the Ice Queen, you know. She’s very professional and stuff. Though, she does check in on agents she knows need serious attention – like, those who just came from traumatic missions or something. Aside from that, she doesn’t mingle quite so much, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

They both know this.

“That’s the thing. It’s _not_ necessary. Not even close,” Natasha says, and she sounds terribly confused. “And I don’t even know how she knew I was coming in. I didn’t report my status till before landing. And it’s just to Coulson, and I told him to hold off my debriefing for a bit ‘cause I wanna sleep.”

“Huh.”

Natasha squints at him. “What.”

“Nothing.”

“Clint.”

“Ugh!” He rolls his eyes, but says, “We both know you’re interested in her, right?”

Natasha shrugs. It’s a moot point to deny that. Clint knows she’s got her eyes on the deputy for a while now.

“Right. So if Maria’s taking these steps – which we’ve established she’d never done before – then, I think it’s assumable that, you know,” he waves his hand around.

Natasha looks at him uncomprehendingly.

Clint face-palms, and says quickly, “MaybeMariaiskindofinterestedinyouthesamewayyouareobviouslyinterestedinher?”

Natasha hops down from the hammock and stands over him.

He looks at her expectantly.

She looks at him blankly.

“Seriously?” Clint says, his astonishment obvious.

Natasha chews on her lower lip, ponders. “But how can she like me… if she actually does, hypothetically… if she does… I mean, how can _anyone_ who knows who I _am_ even like me?” she sounds so hesitant, unbelieving that she is worthy of being liked.

 _Or more_. Clint has seen how the Assistant Director has looked at Natasha. He isn’t as immature as others believe. He notices things – he’s goddamn Hawkeye – and he knows what those things mean.

And the expression AD Hill gets around Natasha when she thinks no one’s looking?

Clint’s sure it’s more than just mere _like_ , at this point.

But he knows how jittery Natasha is about this stuff, and he figures he won’t drop her that bomb. It’s not his place to intervene, and it has to come from Hill herself. If they’re gonna act on their feelings, they need to do it in their own terms.

“I’ve told you like a thousand times, anyone’s lucky to have you, Tasha,” he says. He grins, tries to dispel the somber air. “I mean, I’d totally tap you if it weren’t so incestuous.”

Natasha snorts. Way inelegant. “As if you’d even come close.”

Clint puts his hand on his chest, mock-hurt. “You wound me!”

“Shut up, Barton.” She sighs. “I don’t… I don’t wanna mess up,” she admits in a small voice.

(He gets what she’s saying: _I don_ ’ _t want to fuck this up_. _She_ ’ _s different_ , _and special_ , _and I don_ ’ _t want to mess up my chances with her_.)

“You won’t,” he assures her.

He believes it.

 

(Clint can’t fault her for being afraid though.

Emotions are real scary stuff, after all.)

 


	6. Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship  
> \- Set in the same universe as Chapter 2: Bets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

Skye has always wanted to fly.

There’s something about traveling on air that seems so… freeing. It’s like all her worries would be left behind and it’s just her and the birds and the clouds. Like there’d be no bounds to what she can do and there’d be nothing to stop her.

It’s one of the reasons why she loves the Bus, really. It’s why she enjoys staying in the cockpit with May (even if she’s kind of scarily quiet sometimes). It’s why she badgers AC on letting her take Lola for a spin ever for just an hour (not that he’d ever say yes).

So yeah, Skye likes flying.

She likes to fly.

If there’s a way for her to fly for _real_ , she’d take it no questions asked.

 

****

 

But, well, skyrocketing from the Bus at like a hundred miles per hour isn’t really flying, is it?

She doesn’t think so, either.

**  
**

****

 

She’s always believed in seizing life by the balls and having adventures. She likes taking risks and getting her blood pumping – which are also kind of occupational hazards, being an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

But the skyrocketing-from-the-Bus-at-like-a-hundred-miles-per-hour thing?

It’s kind of pushing it, to be honest.

There has to be a limit to the amount of danger a person should be exposed to.

Even if that person happens to be a badass, kickass, S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

 

****

 

Aside from currently falling to her death, though, Skye’s actually doing great.

She’s got Jemma beside her, and they are kind of holding hands.

Since they’re kind of girlfriends now.

 

Girlfriends who are both falling to their deaths.

Better not forget about that little detail.

 

Next time she’ll listen to AC when he tells her to be wary of the Black Widow.

 

****

 

The only thing that keeps Jemma Simmons from really losing her head is probably (definitely) holding Skye’s hand. She’s gripping it so tightly she’s pretty sure she’s cut off its blood circulation. Skye doesn’t seem to mind.

Or, well, she might be minding right now and Jemma just can’t hear her.

Because they’re freefalling from an altitude of at least 30,000 feet and the winds are rushing loudly around them.

The troposphere is not really the best place to have conversations about hand-gripping.

In fact it’s not the best place to have conversations at all.

It’s not even a decent place to _be_.

 

****

 

This isn’t how she imagined her first date with Skye would be.

This also isn’t how she imagined their first trip to London together would be.

In fact, she’s not even dared imagine that she’d manage to be properly together with Skye _at all_.

Simply put, Jemma sucks at imagining these types of scenarios.

But whatever works, right?

Because all things considered it’s not really the best thing to suck at.

 

Besides, she _probably_ wouldn’t have imagined dying as a prime example of the power of gravity, anyway.

Her life’s really just a giant tangled mess of unbalanced probabilities, at this point in time.

As it were.

 

****

 

The cargo-hold ramp of Phil’s Bus has been lowered.

Maria looks over the edge, standing with her arms crossed.

Clint is snickering next to Phil, who purses his lips in frustration. Melinda’s expression is neutral, though Maria thinks there’s a flicker of reluctant amusement in her eyes. A ghost of the Cavalry’s prankster persona, surely.

The rest of Phil’s team stays a bit further back. Maria can’t blame them for being a little cautious.

After all, the Bus is 30,000 feet in the air above London, give or take.

And, well, two of them – the hacker kid Skye and scientist Jemma – have just been pushed out of it.

By the redheaded superspy beside Maria.

Maria turns to shoot the said redhead a withering look, because _seriously_.

Natasha just smirks at her, offering a hand.

Maria sighs heavily but takes it.

 Then they leap out.

 

****

 

Natasha’s tactical suit, though technically not of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s anymore, has been modified – Tony installed some kind of flying mechanism on its arms and legs as part of a bet he lost against her – and she’s putting it to good use.

Or what passes as ‘good use’ to her, at least.

She’s pretty sure going to a date with Maria counts.

‘Going to a date,’ in this case, means jumping off from a plane thousands of feet in the air, but _nonetheless_.

A date’s a date.

She steals a peek at Maria and chuckles adoringly when the brunette arches an eyebrow.

An exasperated Maria is a _very_ cute Maria.

Natasha looks ahead of them to see where Skye and Jemma are right now. She spots the kids about 200 yards away. After giving Maria’s hand a squeeze as a heads-up, she increases their speed.

They catch up to them after less than a minute, and Jemma looks just about ready to pass out.

Maria grasps the young scientist’s arm, and nods at Natasha.

Natasha propels them forward, eyes searching for a suitable landing area. She doesn’t think Londoners would be too keen of things plummeting from the skies after the whole convergence fiasco in Greenwich.

(Yeah, Jane informed them of that. At Selvig’s prodding, since Jane’s still a bit pissed about the New Mexico thing. Understandable, though.)

 

****

 

Phil should have kept an eye on Clint and Natasha. They’re both so stubborn and mischievous – not really the best combination there is. And he should have known that they’d find a way to exhibit those traits in the most aggravating way.

Really, he should have seen this coming.

 

****

 

Phil nods gratefully at Mack when he closes the hatch.

Then he turns to Clint, who is struggling to keep a straight face.

He says casually, “There’s a reason you work better as a sniper than a close contact agent, Hawkeye.”

Clint offers an innocent smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He sighs. “You were just distracting me, Maria, and May so Romanoff could pull that trick.”

Clint shrugs.

Phil rubs a hand over his face. “At least tell me if we’re gonna need to send help after them.”

Clint raises an eyebrow, as if to ask, ‘ _Really_?’

Phil raises a hand in a conciliatory gesture. “Fine.”

“Uhm. So, sir,” Trip frowns, “what do we do now?”

Phil spins around and heads for the stairs. “Nothing.”

“ _Nothing_?” Hunter is stunned. “They are all out there floating and we’re gonna do nothing?

Melinda tells them, “That’s just Romanoff hazing agents.”

“You heard her,” Phil says. “Be sure to keep your guard up or you’ll be next.” With that he disappears inside.

He has a call to make.

 

****

 

They land somewhere in St. James’s Park.

“Next time please give us a warning before pushing us to our deaths,” Skye pants, a hand on her chest.

Natasha merely raises an eyebrow at her. “Why would I?”

“Uhm, I don’t know, as proper courtesy? I nearly had a heart attack!”

“But you didn’t. You’re doing a good job, actually, keeping kind of calm.” Natasha looks at Jemma, who is seated on the grass with her head between her knees. “Simmons, on the other hand…”

“She’s a scientist, not a trained specialist,” Skye defends, putting an arm around Jemma.

Jemma looks up at her. “It’s all right, I’m fine, Skye.” She wobbles as she stands up, but manages with Skye supporting her weight.

Natasha then glances at Maria, who has her back to them, a phone glued to her ear.

“Who’s she calling?” Skye asks.

“Dunno. Phil, maybe.” Natasha shrugs unconcerned, then turns to the two. “So, let’s meet back here later? Is three hours enough for you kids, or should we take five? I’m actually partial to five hours. I need all the time I can get.”

Skye blinks, uncomprehending. Jemma has a crease between her eyebrows.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Why did you think I pushed you out when I did?”

“Uhm, for fun? You do like hazing junior agents. Clint told me,” Skye says.

“Yeah, yeah, but it’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“This is a gift for Jemma.”

Jemma appears confused. “What?”

The redhead smirks. Maria sidles up next to her and answers, “Because you kissed Skye first, Natasha won the bet against Coulson, which means she get to take Lola V.2 out for a joyride.”

Natasha adds, “The two of you are free to do whatever you want in the next…” she peers at Maria.

“Five hours,” Maria supplies.

“Five hours,” Natasha smiles. “Call it an appreciation gift. Jemma’s got moves.”

“You saw that?!” Jemma screeches.

“Whoa, wait wait wait,” Skye hold up a hand, “you mean you guys were betting on _that_?”

All she gets are a smirk and a sigh.

“Ugh,” Skye groans.

“This is embarrassing.” Jemma has her face on both her hands.

“A thank-you would be nice, though,” Natasha says. “I did just score you your first date.”

“Yeah, after betting on it! And you didn’t even bet on me!” Skye crosses her arms.

“ _That_ ’s what you’re worried about?” Jemma scoffs. “They saw us, Skye! They were watching!”

“Betting, Jemma! They were _betting_! On who’s got the moves!”

“It’s part of S.H.I.E.L.D. tradition! I’m more concerned about the fact that we were apparently under observation when we kissed!”

 

Natasha and Maria watch the two younger agents bicker.

Maria arches her eyebrows.

Natasha shrugs.

They slip away as quietly as they can.

If this is how the two wants to spend their five hours, so be it.

Maria and Natasha have other stuff to do.

 

****

**  
**

“You planned the whole thing.” Maria’s voice is soft as they amble along Birdcage Walk hand-in-hand. They are on their way to The Churchill Museum and Cabinet War Rooms. It’s always been one of Maria’s favorite places – a clear indication of Peggy Carter’s influence on her life.

Natasha grins at her lover. “Perceptive. I like that.”

“Charming.” Maria rolls her eyes.

“Those kids need some time off.” Natasha explains, winks, “And so do we.”

“Does that really need to include some downward trip to London?”

“Simmons has been feeling kind of homesick lately, and Skye’s never been here. Besides, it’s en route to the Amsterdam base so I figured, why not? And it’s the perfect opportunity to try out Stark’s little addition to my suit, which works splendidly, by the way. And why are you looking at me like that?” Natasha stops, fidgets under Maria’s gaze.

“You’re a dork.” Maria’s eyes are full of tender affection. Natasha hides behind a mask of nonchalance, but in moments like this Maria sees just how much she cares, and it’s magnificent, awe-inspiring – the Black Widow, nay, _Natasha Romanoff_ caring about people is a sight to behold, and Maria’s honored to be given the privilege to witness that.

“I’m not.”

“You are.” Maria pulls Natasha till they are standing toe-to-toe. “And I love you.”

Natasha beams, and she’s like a fire-kissed angel to Maria’s eyes.

“I love you, too.”

 

 


	7. Grades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Pre-Relationship  
> \- HighSchool!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

Natasha is sitting in Steve’s living room, sprawled along the couch with her feet propped on his lap. It’s Saturday and they usually hang out with their friends to do stuff, but for now it’s just the two of them. Clint’s got archery practice, and Bruce and Tony got into some weekend tour for science geniuses.

The coffee table is littered with DVDs, and some superhero film with badass assassins and rage monsters is playing on the television screen.

Not that Natasha’s paying any particular attention to it, though.

She’s kind of in the middle of thinking about something else.

“You should just take the leap and ask her out already,” Steve says.

Or rather, _someone_ else.

“I can’t just do that, moron.” She rolls her eyes, pokes Steve’s side with her foot a little harder than necessary.

Steve does not mind – he can probably bench-press thrice Natasha’s weight without breaking a sweat – but he does look confused. “Why not? You can date whoever you like. You’re the head cheerleader, Nat.”

“Exactly,” Natasha nods, despondent. “I’m the head cheerleader; she’s the school paper editor with straight A’s. I’m nothing and she’s the captain of a bunch of gold-winning clubs.”

“Hey,” Steve chides, frowning at her disapprovingly, “that’s not true. You’re not nothing. You’ve led the squad to national championship twice in a row, bringing home the trophy both times. And you’re smart, too. I know you are, and you know it, too.”

“Whatever. I’d just look like an idiot if I talk to someone whose GPA is probably a perfect 4.0.”

“Well, if you pay attention to your lessons – or you know, actually _attend_ your classes – and tried to at least be interested in learning I’m sure you’d be able to keep up with her.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is,” he insists. “Look, I have World History with her brother, maybe I could –”

“No,” Natasha says, finally sitting up and glaring at Steve. “No, you would _not_ approach her brother about this. You would not approach _anyone_ about this, period.”

“Okay, okay,” he shrugs. “No need to bite my head off. It’s just that you’ve been like, acting real miserable lately.”

“That’s not true.”

“You know it is.”

Natasha sighs. “Just watch the bloody movie, Rogers,” she says, though without venom. She plops back down, her eyes on the screen and yet unseeing.

She knows Steve means well – he always does – and she trusts him unequivocally, which is why she knows he’ll keep her secret for as long as she wants him to.

The secret being that she’s got a sort of crush on SHIELD Academy’s golden child, Maria Hill.

Seriously, Maria Hill is freaking perfect. Natasha thinks her existence is quite possibly a divine gift. Her eyes are like, the purest and prettiest shade of blue Natasha has ever seen, and her dark fringes are always falling across those sapphire orbs in the most adorable way, and she’s kickass and straightforward and really smart, and –

– okay, okay, maybe it’s way more than a sort of crush.

Maybe Natasha’s already in way too deep to ever hope for reaching the surface again.

Maybe she doesn’t care and would have just quite happily get lost in Maria – whose eyes brew storms whenever she’s pissed, whose strong jaw clenches in a _really_ hot way that causes Natasha’s brain to short-circuit, whose rare smiles are like the sunshine streaming through Natasha’s life.

She’s got it bad – worse than she’d care to admit to anyone. Ever.

But it doesn’t matter because it’s hopeless anyway.

Maria Hill is light-years out of Natasha’s reach.

 

****

 

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but your agreement would be very much appreciated,” Mr. Xavier finishes, earnest eyes staring imploringly at Maria, who is standing before him in the faculty room.

“Sir,” she says, “as a clarification: I am to tutor Romanoff until her English Literature grades stop being so dismal, is that correct?”

“To put it bluntly, yes,” he nods.

“She’s the head cheerleader, Mr. Xavier.”

“I am well aware of that.”

“Then you must also be aware that her crowd does not like mingling with someone like me,” she says frankly, and Mr. Xavier’s respect for her increases.

“Someone like you?” he muses, smiling. “Who would that be?” It is a rhetorical question, and so he doesn’t wait for her answer. “Someone whose accomplishments in academic and extra-curricular fields are not to be taken for granted? Your grades are all A’s and you’ve led your clubs to multiple victories. Your record is quite extraordinary, and I have faith that you’ll get far in life.”

“I – that’s not what I meant, sir,” Maria ducks her head, bashful, “but thank you for the compliment.”

“You deserve it, and I do believe that Romanoff would be grateful if you help her out.”

“I am willing to do that, but I still think she won’t appreciate it.” Maria sighs. “Popular girls are not appreciative of being saddled with bores, as a general rule.”

“You are a lot of things but you are not a bore, Maria,” Mr. Xavier laughs softly. “I have a long list of people who’d happily accept academic assistance if it came from you. And maybe Romanoff would not be so bad.”

Maria doesn’t seem to believe that, but she nevertheless nods. “We will see, sir.”

 

****

 

Natasha is on science club’s rooftop garden, balancing her chair on its two back legs. She ended cheer practice half an hour early today, since her English Lit teacher thought she needs extra help in the subject and had apparently arranged for a tutor. Yeah, whatever. Not happening. The only reason she’s here is to set the record straight and throw whoever Xavier sent back to his office and out of her life.

“You’re actually here,” an amused voice says behind her.

Natasha startles so badly her chair topples over, but she executes a perfect back-flip to avoid falling down. The she twists around to glare at the intruder.

 _Try_ to glare.

Turns out she can’t do much of that.

Instead she gapes.

In front of her is Maria Hill.

Not a strand of her dark hair is out of place, and despite it being late afternoon on a school day, her clothes – grey cardigan over a crisp white shirt and dark jeans – remain impeccable. Truly she is the epitome of understated elegance and effortless style, Natasha thinks.

“Hill?” she says, and she doesn’t hide her surprise.

“Romanoff,” Maria says back with a tiny smirk. She nods to the fallen chair. “That was fantastic.”

Natasha clears her throat and picks the chair back up. “Yeah, thanks. It’s kind of instinctive, at this point.”

“Sorry for startling you.”

“Never mind that.” Natasha tries to act cool and collected but her heart is beating a mile a minute. Gods. “Why are you here anyway? Shouldn’t you be in a council meeting or something?” She’s met with a raised eyebrow, and Natasha fumbles for an excuse. “Uh, Tony’s dating someone from there.”

“I know. Pepper’s on cloud nine.”

Natasha chuckles. “So is Tony. He can’t shut up about her.”

“Good,” Maria says casually, “I’d hate to kick him in the balls if he hurt her.”

Natasha’s eyes widen.

Maria merely shrugs and takes a seat. “So, what do you think of _The Lord of the Flies_?”

Natasha blinks, puzzled. “Huh?”

“I’m your tutor. Surely Mr. Xavier has informed you that you have one?”

“I – _what_?”

Maria sets several books on the table – and where did she even get them? – and opens one. “Sit down, Romanoff.”

Wordlessly, Natasha does.

“I know you don’t want to be here, and honestly I’m not sure why I even agreed to this, but let’s not make this situation any more unpleasant, shall we?” Maria catches Natasha’s gaze. “I know you cheerleader types don’t really want to associate with brainiacs.”

“That’s not necessarily true.” Natasha softly disagrees, and she wants to look away from those magnetic eyes, but she can’t.

She is trapped.

And she doesn’t want to escape.

 

****

 

Bucky is leaning against his car when he spots a dark-haired figure from across the parking lot. The strides are long and the posture is perfect – and really, how does she manage to look that put-together this late in the day? – but what snags his attention is the barely perceptible smile.

He knows that with his sister, that might as well have been a laugh. Maria is reserved like that, at least in a public setting.

“You look awfully pleased,” he comments when she’s within earshot. He opens the passenger door.

“It’s an interesting afternoon,” she tells him, sliding smoothly on the shotgun.

“Session went well?”

She hums in assent.

“Why is Xavier even worried about Romanoff’s grades? A lot of kids are more in need of tutoring.”

“I suppose he knows that Romanoff just needs an extra push. She learns quickly, and I think she could do better, she just isn’t very motivated.”

“And having you tutor her is a motivation?”

“The sooner we manage to pull her grades back up, the sooner the arrangement can stop.”

“Ah,” Bucky nods. “I see. Crafty.”

“Yeah.” She turns the radio on. “And, hey, thank you for waiting up for me.”

“No problem,” Bucky says. “I dropped by the library, anyway.”

Maria gasps playfully. “You _what_?”

He sends her a mock-glare. “Shut up. I’m catching up on World History, all right?”

“On World History, or on Rogers?” Maria teases.

“Oh my god, why do I even tell you anything?” Bucky groans.

“Hey, I actually like him, you know,” Maria points out. “He’s nice. If you’re going to _like_ anyone, I’m glad that it’s him. Seriously.”

Steve Rogers is someone very difficult to dislike. He’s good-looking and buff, and even though he’s the football team’s prized quarterback, his ego is non-existent and his douche-bag level is zero. He’s almost too sweet for his own good, going out of his way to do kind things to people – helping out not-buff science geeks in carrying their shitload of books, lending a hand to the theater kids in their set preparations, even assisting the old librarian in shelving books.

“I know,” he says.

Maria shakes her head at his goofy grin and asks a bit worriedly, “Are he and Romanoff dating, though? Quarterback and head cheerleader – that’s the first entry in every high school rulebook.”

“Nah, they’re just friends,” Bucky replies. “They apparently grew up together, along with Banner, Stark, and Barton.”

“A pretty decent crowd,” Maria remarks.

“Right,” Bucky clears his throat. “So, uhm, given that you think they’re pretty decent, would it be okay if you come with me this weekend to Steve’s place?”

Maria looks at him askance. “Huh?”

“They chill out together on weekends, you know, movie night and stuff. Steve kind of invited me and I kind of asked him if you could come with.”

Maria frowns, confused. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I freaked out and I _really_ wanna go but I don’t think I’d survive that alone. So you gotta go with me.”

Maria tilts her head, expression thoughtful. “If I agree, you’re gonna have to do my share of chores for five weeks.”

“Two.”

“Four.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“Take it or leave it,” Maria smirks.

“Ugh,” Bucky sighs heavily, “fine. Deal.”

 

He hopes it’s worth it.

 

****

 

It totally is.

 


	8. Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship  
> \- In which they dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

The mission in Rio de Janeiro has gone so well that it leaves Natasha somewhat disbelieving. There isn’t a single hitch in the plan – not a hiccup, not a cough, not an eye roll out of place.  Of course, that’s quite possibly because the Assistant Director herself designed the assignment, and she also happens to be Natasha’s partner for it.

Maria’s movements are efficient, economical – every step well thought of, every shift precise. She’s not one to spend energy unnecessarily, and her Plan B’s have Plan B’s. Not that they need those, because every gear, every cog in the plan has spun into place like any well-oiled machine should.

By the time they have tied off all loose ends, Natasha’s _almost_ pouting. Everything has gone so simply and there’s not been even a hint of a challenge. It’s all pretty boring – it took them hardly a _day_ to finish the job.

“That’s the most unexciting mission ever,” Natasha declares, locking the door behind them. They’ve booked the room for until the next evening – an acceptable margin for an _if_ situation that never came.

Maria raises an eyebrow, dropping the retrieved satchel on a steel-enforced box and keying in the pass code. “What, it went too smoothly for your tastes?”

“Yeah,” Natasha sighs. “I didn’t even get the chance to try out my new Bite. I mean, what’s the use of all my crisis management training if I can’t use my toys?”

Maria chuckles. “The point of having good plans is to have no need for crisis management, Nat.”

“Nothing goes according to most of my plans,” the redhead huffs. “So crisis management is one of my many skills.”

“That’s because your plans often border on preposterous.”

“They don’t!”

 Maria scoffs. “You thought overriding my Helicarrier’s systems to broadcast your intention of dating me was a great idea.”

“But it did get your attention,” Natasha says. “And _your_ Helicarrier? Really?”

Maria waves a hand flippantly. “My point is, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents wouldn’t have to be so used to missions going FUBAR if the plans and research for them have been thoroughly prepared. Unfortunately, the planners are idiots and the research data are shit.”

“Not everyone could be you,” Natasha quips. “You’re an obsessive-compulsive control freak with an unhealthy fixation with protocols and schematics.”

“I’m more inclined to believe that they’re all just so stupid they can’t hatch half-decent plans,” Maria says dryly.

“Why not fire them, then, so that you won’t have too much headache with the clean-ups?”

“As much as I want to, that’s not possible.” Maria seems genuinely upset about that. “I can’t be in many places at once.”

Natasha laughs at her rueful tone. “Too bad.”

“It is.”

Natasha steps right in front of Maria, tangling their fingers together. “Well, given that this is one of those rare _half_ - _decent_ plans, why not make good use of the extra time it buys us?” Her tongue peeks out of her lips.

Maria smirks. “What do you have in mind?”

 

****

 

“You know, I haven’t done this in ages,” Maria says – _yells_ , more like – as Natasha leads her to a throng of half-naked strangers. Music thumps loudly in the air and the moon hangs full and low.

Natasha looks over her shoulder and throws the brunette a huge grin. “Then this is definitely the right thing to do.”

Once they get in the middle of the dancing crowd, Natasha spins to face Maria and drapes her arms over the taller woman’s shoulders. She presses herself up closer to Maria, presses forward until not even a breath of air is between them.

Maria’s hands grip Natasha’s hips as the assassin begins to gyrate against her, causing fire to lick a path in her bloodstream and her heart to rattle in her ribcage. “The Black Widow wants to spin a web?”

“No,” Natasha bites Maria’s lower lip, and there’s a wanton promise glinting in her green eyes. “The Black Widow wants to _weave_.”  At that Maria growls – honest-to-goodness _growls_ – and the primal sound is like a zap of lightning to Natasha’s body. She opens her mouth in a gasp.

Maria doesn’t waste any time and takes that opportunity, capturing Natasha’s lips and swallowing her pleased moan. Maria kisses her deeply and ardently and fiercely, and with the tightly coiled intensity that lurks beneath her usually frigid public persona.

Natasha lifts a leg up to wrap it around Maria’s thigh, and she’s overcome with a desire to crawl inside Maria’s skin and be one with her. She _loves_ Maria – loves her so completely and irrevocably – and she’s all that matters to Natasha. She wants to be one with her in the most basic way the universe has to offer, and she doesn’t care if they’re in the middle of a thousand people.

Everything is _Maria_ , and Natasha’s senses are pervaded with her – tasting her (Maria’s agile tongue in her mouth as they kiss like there’s no tomorrow), feeling her (the press of their bodies together, a perfect match to each other’s curves and valleys, the perfect softness and hardness, the perfect warmth), hearing her (Maria’s groans in time with the music, making up Natasha’s favorite symphony), smelling her (a faint bayberry scent, mixed with something that is distinctly Maria), seeing her (even with Natasha’s eyes closed she sees Maria – because her face and her smile and her eyes, _all_ of her – are branded beneath Natasha’s eyelids and emblazoned across her mind so that she wouldn’t ever forget, wouldn’t ever have to live a second without those memories, wouldn’t ever have to breathe without Maria in her heart).

The tempo changes into something slower yet still upbeat, and Maria breaks away from the kiss. She chuckles at the disappointed sound that escapes Natasha. “We’re supposed to dance,” she says, amusement lacing her voice.

“We were, until several seconds ago,” Natasha grumbles, trailing her teeth along Maria’s jaw line.

Maria hisses when Natasha sucks right on her pulse point. “I don’t think that counts as dancing.” They’re not dancing so much as fucking whilst dressed. “It seems that I’m out of practice.”

“So practice some more,” Natasha suggests with a dash of impatience, and she tugs at Maria’s hair, pulling her down.

Maria takes the hint and kisses Natasha again, sliding both hands down to her thighs, urging Natasha to wrap both legs around her, and Natasha is once again in awe of how strong and powerful Maria is.

When they break away again, minutes later, Natasha touches their foreheads together. She says, her voice soft – so soft it is mostly drowned out by the noise around them – but Maria hears her, Maria _always_ hears her, “I’m so happy right now.”

Maria hums, and the sound reverberates throughout Natasha’s soul – something Natasha thought she doesn’t possess in the first place. “Heroes deserve to be happy.”

Natasha pulls back, and she’s bewildered. “I’m not a hero.”

“You are,” Maria argues, and she’s looking at Natasha as if she’s seeing the sun for the first time after an eternity of darkness, “you’re a hero to the world.” She kisses Natasha’s temple, and she murmurs against Natasha’s skin, a benediction Natasha didn’t know she craved, “You are a hero to me.”

 

 

With Maria looking at her like that – full of trust and pride and dare she think it, _love_ – Natasha believes that she is indeed a hero.

 


	9. Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Pre-Relationship  
> \- In which Natasha follows AD Hill around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

Maria Hill gets the strange feeling that someone’s following her.

It is intuition borne out of years looking after not only herself but everyone under her command, out of hundreds of missions from which she didn’t really know if she’d get away alive, out of the instinct for self-preservation that is burrowed deep within her skin.

And so she knows not to ignore this hunch – for there is no one she trusts more than herself, at this point in her life.

She continues walking and as she seamlessly blends with the sea of strangers on the streets of New York, her mind is going through numerous possible scenarios that may play out.

 _Just like training_.

 

(Except in training, there’s no real threat to her, not really.)

 

****

 

Natasha Romanoff almost gets caught four times. That fact grates on her nerves more than anything, and she is seriously starting to question her abilities. She’s _the_ Black Widow and she’s the best damn spy in the world – and yet she finds herself on the verge of being discovered, and that’s not something that’s happened before.

She’s pissed at herself, to be honest. Are her skills so rusty that a mere S.H.I.E.L.D. agent comes so close – _too_ close – to catching her?

Well, all right. Maria Hill is not a mere S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. In fact she’s not a mere anything. But _still_.

Natasha finds that she needs to up her game a bit, if she wants to carry this on.

 

(And boy does she want to.)

 

****

 

The agent catches the spider on the ninth day of her surveillance.

 

****

 

The assistant director enters an unassuming pub in Manhattan. (It’s called MacLaren’s, if Natasha’s read the signage properly.) Natasha chooses to wait outside instead of following her inside – the pub seems small, and she doesn’t want to take chances, not when Maria proves to be such a challenge.

She’s crouching in the shadows of a nearby alleyway when she feels a change in the air.

She reacts a quarter of a second too late.

There’s an arm around her throat and the barrel of a gun is pressing harshly on the small of her back.

“Not bad, Specialist,” Maria’s voice is oddly amused, and her breath tickles Natasha’s right ear.

“And you’re not too bad yourself, Assistant Director,” Natasha evenly replies. “Nobody’s caught me before.”

“Except Hawkeye.”

Natasha rolls her eyes though she knows Maria can’t see her. “That was part of the plan.”

“Yeah, well. Whatever. Nobody who came before him knew what to look for.”

“And you do?” There’s a hint of a challenge in her tone. Deliberate, designed to bait the cool and collected right hand to Fury.

“I know enough,” Maria answers simply, refusing to play. “Now, why are you following me? Who put you up to this?”

“You’re not even gonna point your gun away from me? You should at least release me from this chokehold if you’re gonna decide on interrogation.”

“Right,” Maria scoffs. “I heard that one before. Not going to happen.”

“You do know I can easily disarm you, right?”

“I’d take my chances.” She digs the barrel more firmly into the assassin. “I repeat: why are you following me and who put you up to this?”

Natasha shrugs – _attempts_ to shrug. “No one. It’s my day off. And I was told that I could do anything I want to do in my free time.”

A disbelieving grunt. “And you choose to follow me?”

“I find you interesting,” Natasha says sweetly, and she tilts her head – as much as is allowed, in their current position – and she feels the brunette’s lips so close to her cheek.

(She keeps herself from swallowing the dryness in her mouth.)

There are several seconds of silence as Maria considers her, and then she’s released.

She spins to face Maria, who is looking at her contemplatively.

“Just don’t get in the way and we won’t have a problem,” Maria says, holstering back her gun.

Natasha raises an eyebrow – surprised that she’s let off the hook so easily – but she nods. “Aye, aye.”

 

****

 

 _Robin Scherbatsky_. That is Maria’s cover name, the one she uses whenever she drops by MacLaren’s.

Natasha knows she kind of promised she’ll stay out of the way, but Maria keeps coming back to the pub, and she needs to know _why_. And so she ropes Clint into finding out the surface details – he’s not bound by that kind-of promise, after all.

She can’t see how Maria is endeared to such a place – it’s so ordinary, so… normal and Natasha believes that Maria is anything but normal.

 

She really, really, _really_ needs to unlock this mystery.

Not because everything about Maria Hill entices her. Of course not.

She needs to know for the sake of her professional integrity.

She’s a spy and information is the tool, the price, and the prize of her trade.

 

(Or something like that.)

 

****

 

 **Tash** :

What if MacLaren’s is hiding some kind of top-secret S.H.I.E.L.D. installation underground?

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

We’ve been through this. There’s no record of that.

– H

 

 **Tash** :

What if that’s redacted from records? Won’t be the first time S.H.I.E.L.D. does that.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

It might be. Want me to pursue this line of inquiry?

– H

 

 **Tash** :

Nah, I’d do it myself when I get back.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

Ah. Okay.

Are you going in?

– H

 

 **Tash** :

I’m thinking about it.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

…

You’re already in front of the door, aren’t you.

– H

 

 **Tash** :

Later, Cloud.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

I’ll be waiting with the first aid kit.

– H

 

 

Natasha smirks at Clint’s text and pockets her phone. Squaring her shoulders, she pushes the door open.

 

****

 

Maria knows it the moment she enters the pub.

It’s pretty hard not to – Natasha is a head-turner, jaw-dropper wherever she goes.

And Maria also knows she’s not the only one who thinks that. She sneaks a glance at her – cursory, undetectable by average civilians – and then returns her attention back to Lily, who is recounting how she almost got hit by a cab earlier today.

She counts to five in her head, and sure enough, both Ted and Barney have become aware of the gorgeous redhead who just got in.

“Dibs!” they yell at the same time. They glare at each other.

Marshall, who has been listening to Lily intently, turns his head to look at who got their attention. Lily does so as well.

“Oh,” Marshall nods, “she’s way up there.”

“Yup. On a scale of one-to-ten she’s an eleven,” Lily agrees. “Maybe a twelve, even.”

Maria shifts her gaze up to look at Natasha for the sake of pretense. Wearing a chic leather jacket over a thin white blouse and dark fitted jeans, she looks like a model of the latest in grunge-rock fashion.  “Definitely a twelve,” Maria remarks – almost too blithely, but no one notices.

“No matter who between the two of you tries to pick her up, it won’t work,” Lily tells Ted and Barney.

“You don’t know that,” Ted protests with a pout.

“Ye of little faith, Lily-dear,” Barney huffs. “Of course it would work,” he looks at Ted pointedly, “if _I_ be the one to woo the pretty lady.”

“Uh, guys, she’s heading here,” Marshall says. “And she’s…”

“Hello,” Natasha greets them.

No one answers – they’re all too busy gawking at her.

“Uh, hi?” Marshall greets back, when it becomes apparent that his friends have been rendered speechless.

But she’s not paying attention to him. Natasha’s eyes are trained on Maria – _only Maria_. She offers her a hand. “Natalie,” she says, and adds after a beat, “Rushman.” It’s one of her best covers, made by Assistant Director Hill herself. Let these people stalk her later, far away from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s trail.

Maria’s lips twitch in a smile. Natasha doesn’t know if it’s acting or if it’s real, and it unnerves her – it’s difficult to read Maria, no matter the circumstances. “Robin Scherbatsky.” _Robin_ takes her offer hand, and her hand is warm, her grip firm.

 _Natalie_ ’s touch lingers a moment longer than necessary. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

 _Natalie_ tilts her head, and Natasha schools her face into a bashful yet playful expression. “Let me buy you a drink?”

She notices the twitch in Maria’s jaw, and she bites back a laugh.

“Sure,” _Robin_ answers her pleasantly, but the fire burning in her eyes is all Maria.

 _Let the games begin_.

 

****

 

As soon as they’re out of the group’s earshot, Maria says, “You’re getting a stern reprimand after this, Specialist.”

“I know,” Natasha chuckles. “Worth it, though.”

“I thought I told you to stay away.”

“No, no,” Natasha shakes her head. “You told me to not get in your way. And I’m not.” She shrugs. “I’m just dropping by.”

Maria sighs. “This is a Level 6 operation. You can’t just waltz in without warning.”

“I _am_ a Level 6 agent,” Natasha frowns.

“That doesn’t mean you get to barge into missions in which you have no part.” They’re at the counter now, and they need to lower their voices, and so Maria does. “Your being a Level 6 agent is the only reason why I’m not terminating contact with you right this second.”

They are about to order when Maria’s – no, _Robin_ ’s – phone rings.

“Shit,” she mutters when she reads the name on the screen, and her eyes flash in warning – _don_ ’ _t move_. She answers the call. “Yes – no – that’s not my – it’s her prerogative – no, I don’t – are you _serious_?”

Natasha watches with rapt interest as Maria’s – _Robin_ ’s – expression changes from surprise to agitation to indignation and back again.

“I understand.” She’s scowling now, and she buries the phone back in her pocket with another sigh. “Shit,” she mutters again.

“Problem?” Natasha asks and her voice is almost a whisper, easily drowned out by the din in the pub.

“Yeah,” Maria glares at her. “A bit of your fault, actually, though I admit it’s kind of mine, too.”

“I didn’t do anything terribly implicating.”

“You didn’t,” _Robin_ nods. “But still the eagle wants the lion to engage with the spider.”

Natasha stills – for a moment – and _Natalie_ trails her hand up _Robin_ ’s arm. A suggestive smile plays on her lips, and _Robin_ sends her a heated look. “I see.”

 _The eagle wants the lion to engage with the spider_.

 

Fury wants Hill and Romanoff to continue this mission together.

And they are to do it as lovers.

 

Things have just taken an interesting turn.

 

****

 

 **Tash** :

I’ll see you on the Helicarrier, right?

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

I’m still waiting with the first-aid kit.

– H

 

Natasha laughs, freely, as she makes her way to her quinjet. She has a bruise on her thigh and a bite mark on her shoulder.

 

This might not end up so bad, after all.

 

 

 


	10. Jail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship  
> \- In which Black Widow and Hawkeye wind up in jail.  
> \- Castle Crossover. (Timeline is a bit messed up, but whatever.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

Maria has a palm on her face, as if trying to shield herself from the entire world’s stupidity. Her other hand is braced on the railing of her Helicarrier’s command center, and her knuckles are white with the force of her grip. Her bearing radiates pure frustration.

Really, she just wants to disappear right now and not deal with any more of this shit.

This situation is so freaking ridiculous.

Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff are in jail.

No, no, that’s not quite right.

 _Hansel_ _Burton_ and _Barbara_ _Sugarman_ are in jail.

 

What the freaking hell.

 

****

 

Kate Beckett is glaring at the pair seated across the table in the interrogation room. Castle is almost buzzing with energy next to her, his fingers tapping a silent rhythm on his thighs. He seems like a kid on Christmas day.

Well, she can’t really blame him for that.

The two leads they have before them are an odd duo, to put it simply.

And yeah, sure, they’ve encountered all sorts of odd in the course of their partnership, but this is different.

“Barbara Sugarman and Hansel Burton,” Beckett says as her gaze first cuts through the green-eyed blonde woman, then the laidback sandy-haired guy beside her. “Those names sound made up.”

Barbara shrugs. Hansel chuckles lowly.

“Probably because they are,” Hansel tells her.

“Wait, so, you admit that you’re lying?” Castle asks.

“Are we?” Hansel returns the question, leaning back on his chair till only its rear legs are on the floor.

There are two sharp knocks on the mirror.

Hansel looks at Barbara. “10 minutes and 15 seconds relay? They’re getting kind of slow, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps as a punishment for you,” Barbara says, her tone bored. “We could have gotten away without involving the police.”

“Come on, give us some credit. We could have gotten away without being seen by _anyone_ ,” Hansel laughs. “But where’s the fun in that, right?”

“You’re writing the report for this one.”

“Sure, sure.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Beckett demands. She is largely ignored.

Before she can question them further, the door opens and Esposito appears. He looks grim, and he jerks his head to signal for Beckett and Castle to follow him before closing the door again. Beckett looks at Castle, who raises both his hands in a _no idea_ gesture. Sighing, she stands up. “We’re not done here,” she says sternly, eyes narrowed dangerously at the detainees. She exits the room with Castle right behind her.

 

****

 

“No,” Beckett breathes, disbelieving. “Sir, we can’t just release them!”

Captain Gates sets her elbows on her desk and rubs at her temples. It is abundantly clear that she finds the situation appalling as well. “I’m afraid we have no choice but to do so, Detective. The orders came from pretty high up.”

“How high up is pretty high up?” Castle asks.

Captain Gates glowers at him, but she answers, albeit tiredly, “ _Very_ high, Mr. Castle.”

“I don’t understand, sir,” Beckett says, “they are the only leads we have right now. We let them go, this case is ruined.”

“I get where you’re coming from and believe me, I don’t like this any more than you do, but we’re pressed here.” Captain Gates looks pained as she utters the words. “Let them go.”

“Would you at least tell us who called in?” Beckett is staring at the captain earnestly.

Captain Gates purses her lips as she regards both Beckett and Castle. Then she sighs, resigned. She replies, “A division rather independent of the world’s government, I am told.”

They are taken aback.

“ _Rather_ independent of the world’s government,” Castle repeats. “What, like, with ties to the United Nations?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“And you believe that, sir?” Beckett pushes.

Captain Gates nods, gravely. “I have no reason not to. We have nothing to tie them up to the case, detective. The evidence is circumstantial at best. And –”

Suddenly there’s a crash, and all the precinct lights turn off.

Castle raises his phone to serve as light but, “My phone’s off.”

Beckett checks hers and she groans. “Mine as well.”

Captain Gates stands up and opens her door. “What’s happening here?” she demands.

Ryan comes stumbling into view, and his face is ashen. “They’re gone.”

 

****

 

Beckett runs to the holding cells as fast as she can.

As soon as she reaches the one supposed to keep Barbara and Hansel, the lights turn back on.

She sees both handcuffs on the bench, and there’s a note beneath them.

 

 _Tell Richard that Agent 007 says hi_.

 _And_ _you_ ’ _re not so bad_ , _Katherine Houghton Beckett_.

 _Maybe someday we_ ’ _ll all meet again_.

 

 _P_. _S_. _Find us if you dare_.

 

She flips the note over, and there’s a sigil of an eagle and a shield.

 

****

 

When they check what really happened, they find out that all records have been removed. The cameras have been disabled and all evidence they got – fingerprints, photos, _everything_ – have been erased.

It’s like Barbara Sugarman and Hansel Burton don’t exist.

It’s like Barbara Sugarman and Hansel Burton have been wiped away.

There are no remaining traces, and if not for the memory of it Kate Beckett would have thought that the whole encounter was just a dream.

 

It’s not long before even the memory disappears and the incident is forgotten by everyone – and all that remains is a niggling at the back of their minds that something is missing.

 

****

 

“You used an enhanced version of scopolamine to make them forget the incident?” Maria asks.

“Yup,” Natasha confirms. “Drug Code 421JP5, in the terminal stages of experimentation. Fitz and Simmons have perfected it.”

“It’s handy, really. And your timing worked, even if it’s a little bit later than I expected,” Clint says.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” Maria deadpans. “I was busy coordinating with Stark so that all digital records the 12th Precinct might have gotten can be eradicated completely in the small time frame that we had.”

Natasha hums. “You used an improved EMP to knock out the electronics?”

Maria shrugs. “The moment that’s activated, JARVIS ran a system-wide sweep for the clean-up.” She sighs. “Now, will you tell me why you took such a risk? You two could have gotten away without any kind of detection, Nat.”

Natasha exchanges a glance with Clint.

Clint says, “We owed a man something.”

Maria gazes at him, inscrutable. Finally she nods. “Richard Castle’s father.”

“He was a great help in Budapest, and we figured now’s as good a time as any to make good on our word.”

“And the card you left?”

Natasha smirks. “If Katherine Beckett is half as brilliant as Nick believes, then she’ll figure it out.”

Maria nods again, accepting the explanation. “She will, in time. Her stint with the FBI lasted far too briefly, but I think it’s because that environment really does not suit her.”

“And what, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s environment does?”

Maria smiles at her. “She’s hotheaded, stubborn, and she’s in an unending pursuit for justice. Do you think she won’t belong here?”

Natasha’s lips twist in an almost-pout but she does not argue the point.

She elbows Clint when he giggles beside her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Their covers are inspired by Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters and Don Jon.  
> \- Just because.


	11. Kitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship  
> \- Fluff and stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

Natasha and Clint are seated in front of Phil in his office, case files lying unopened before them.

“Are your orders clear?” Phil asks them, his expression stern.

Not as stern as he’d want it to be, though, because Natasha just smirks. “Sure thing, boss.”

Phil sighs heavily. “Be serious.”

“I am,” Natasha says, and she motions to Clint. “We are.”

Phil stares at her pointedly first, then at Clint. “I just want to make sure that everything will go smoothly. This is a mere grab-and-go, and I don’t want any pointless complications to arise.”

Clint shrugs. “Whatever you say, babe.” There’s an impish glint in his eyes, and the rest of his face remains mostly impassive.

 _Mostly_ being the operative word.

Phil groans and gives up. Dealing with these two never gets easy, no matter how many of their missions he handles, no matter how many briefings and debriefings he goes through with them. “Just go, Specialists. And follow your orders, please.”

Clint nods and stands up just as Natasha rises to her feet gracefully. He shoots a smile at Phil, and there’s a mischievous edge to it. “We will, sir.”

Natasha chuckles and heads for the door.

It opens to reveal Maria Hill, standing in wait.

“Going out?” Maria asks.

Natasha raises an eyebrow, teasingly. “As if you don’t know that already.”

Maria just hums, not confirming nor denying the statement. “Just be careful, yeah?”

Natasha’s expression softens, just like it often does when she’s with Maria. “I always am.” She steps closer and raises a hand to cup Maria’s cheek. “I have to come home to you.”

Maria smiles and it warms Natasha’s heart – Maria really is her home, and she’ll always, _always_ come back to her. “I’ll be waiting.”

“I know,” Natasha slides her hand to Maria’s neck and draws her down, pressing a chaste kiss on her lips. She grins when she pulls back, and winks. “See you later, kitten.”

Then she’s striding away, Clint in tow. Maria follows them with an unrelenting gaze till they’re gone.

She turns to Phil when she hears his amused laugh. “Did the Black Widow just call you _kitten_?”

Maria rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

He doesn’t, and continues. “So is that gonna become a thing?”

“I said shut up, Phil,” she grumbles. “And stop looking at me like that.”

“It’s so adorable,” he says, and he looks like he’s about to break into a teenaged-giggle.

“Ugh,” Maria huffs, holding a device and tapping commands. “Get back on the job, Agent, and make sure two of our most valuable assets return no worse for wear.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says and salutes, though there’s still a grin on his lips.

Maria leaves and heads to the Helicarrier’s command center before she punches the living daylights out of him. That would be bad for team cohesion, after all.

 

****

 

**SECTOR 21L**

S.H.I.E.L.D. Mobile Terminal Unit 116J

Camera #P13 Radar Satellite NMR_19

Oaxaca Operation Case File 9234

 

S.T.R.I.K.E. Team: DELTA

 

**Clint Barton**

Code Name: Hawkeye

Asset 836 HWKY 7-212vh

Status: **Activated**

 

**Natasha Romanoff**

Code Name: Black Widow

Asset 506 BLKWID 4-582

Status: **Activated**

 

****

 

 **Tash** :

Mission alert. 0-8-4 acquired.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

Roger that. Meet me on the roof.

– H

 

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

The other roof, Tash.

– H

 

 **Tash** :

Yeah, I know. I was busy kicking ass. Coming your way now.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

Target locked.

– H

 

 **Tash** :

Call it.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

Target eliminated. Let’s go.

– H

 

****

 

 **Natting Hill** :

I thought this was supposed to be a ‘mere grab-and-go.’

– BW

 

 **Meowing Hill** :

S.H.I.E.L.D. plans are unreliable at best.

– MH

 

 **Natting Hill** :

They aren’t if you come up with them.

– BW

 

 **Meowing Hill** :

I can’t always come up with kickass plans, or else the rest would be out of a job.

– MH

 

 

 **Natting Hill** :

Modest as ever.

– BW

 

 **Meowing Hill** :

You like it.

– MH

 

Natasha smiles – a stupid smile, something only Maria ever inspires her to doing – and she ignores Clint’s smugly knowing smirk beside her.

 

 **Natting Hill** :

I like _you_.

– BW

 

 **Meowing Hill** :

Good, because I like you too. Now stop texting while you’re on a mission and come back here.

– MH

 

Natasha feels something gooey and fluttery settle in her chest and it doesn’t even matter when Clint starts singing some children’s rhyme about kissing on trees and he’s making these hilariously terrible mooching faces.

She hits him hard with the case containing the 0-8-4.

(Yeah, all right, it does matter a little. Clint’s annoying like that.)

 

****

 

Later, Natasha is on Maria’s bed with her face nestled on the brunette’s chest.

“Phil’s teased me earlier, when you called me ‘kitten,’” Maria says, running her fingers through Natasha’s copper curls.

“Did he now?”

“Hmmm. I suppose him and Clint don’t do nicknames, eh?”

 “I shudder to think of the possibilities,” Natasha intones, mock-serious. “They seem like a very formal sort of couple.”

Maria laughs lowly (and Natasha feels its vibrations, and it feels so right – to lie there with Maria and fool around and just _be_ ). “You know, I never did ask you why you call me that,” she muses.

Natasha shifts so that she’s looking at Maria’s face, her body more or less on top of the taller woman’s. “It’s because it suits you.”

Maria snorts. “I don’t think many people would agree with that assessment, given that they call me Hard-ass Hill on my good days.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want nor need their opinion,” Natasha retorts. “And they don’t _know_ you.”

A corner of Maria’s mouth twitches in a half-smile. “No, they don’t.”

“Kittens are adorable, and so are you,” Natasha nuzzles Maria’s neck, “and they bite,” she bites that glorious jaw, “and scratch,” she digs her fingers into Maria’s flesh, “lick and suck,” and Natasha does just that down Maria’s throat.

Maria is gasping for breath when Natasha moves to hover over her. “I think ‘kitten’ suits you better, then,” she says.

“No, I was just illustrating what you do to me,” the look in Natasha’s eyes is predatory. “You’re my kitten, Maria, and if you’d be so nice as to prove just how that came to be...” she trails off, and the suggestion hangs in the air.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Maria grins in this frustratingly hot way that makes Natasha’s insides twist in delight and anticipation, and in under a second she’s flipped them over, Natasha now beneath her. “I can’t say I don’t welcome the challenge.”

And it is one challenge Natasha doesn’t mind losing.

 

When Maria is asleep, _hours_ later, she’s almost purring, and Natasha knows it’s not a loss, after all.

If anything, this is definitely a win-win.

 

 


	12. Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship  
> \- In which Maria gets DAYS off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

It’s been a while since Maria gave in to little indulgences. She’s been awfully busy lately (or always), what with 0-8-4 detections suddenly spiking, and aliens arriving, and gods fighting, and the world almost ending. Again.

So, yeah, her life’s a little bit complicated. She has an international intelligence super-agency to co-manage, and various operations to oversee, and a bunch of rookies to train. She’s rarely given herself a moment to process and loosen up and relax; she wants to sometimes, but to her the job is way more important than personal gratification.

However, when the opportunity comes up, she is forced to take it.

She is called to the Director’s office and at first she thinks he’s about to give her a special assignment. As per usual.

And so when he says, “You are to take a leave, Hill. Five days off,” she is caught quite off-guard.

She blinks at him, confused. “Sir?”

His good eye just stares at her unimpressed. (It’s always unimpressed. Maria thinks Director Fury is incapable of any other expression, except perhaps annoyance – which is apparent whenever he’s dealing with the Avengers.) “Five days off. Take ‘em. Immediately.”

“Uh, sir, if I may, what brought this on?”

He sighs, and Maria can hear his displeasure loud and clear. “Why do you always ask me too many damn questions?”

Maria shrugs. She is the only one who has ever questioned Fury’s decisions – the only one who is completely honest with her criticisms and comments – and he relies on her to keep him grounded amid his seas of secrets and lies. “The day I stop doing that is the day you stop trusting me, sir.”

He regards her coolly. “You have a point.” He sighs again, gesturing dismissively.  “I’ll be attending the meetings with the WSC and other bureaucratic shit. They’re extremely insistent this time that I talk to them. Now, I know that I’ve always sent you in my place, but unfortunately for me I can’t avoid them forever. Better get it done with while there’s no current global crisis and the morons are less likely to spontaneously combust from information overload.”

That makes sense. But nevertheless, “I still have several active ops to take care of, sir. Five of those are high-risk, and the agents are required to come into close contact with HYDRA affiliates. It is imperative that they are properly supervised.”

“That’s why I assigned Coulson to temporarily handle those. I’m sure your agents can survive your brief absence without fucking up. What could go wrong in five days?”

Maria raises an eyebrow. “I believe you know the answer to that, sir.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Fury rolls his eye. “You’re still taking the days off.”

She frowns, and presses, “Why is it so important that I take them, sir?”

“Because I say so.”

He needs to do better than that, and they both know it.

“With all due respect, sir, I can handle my work hours, and there is no need to inconvenience Agent Coulson on my behalf.” She pauses, realization dawning. “Unless you have another motive, of course.”

Fury’s mouth tightens into firm line, and she knows she hit the mark.

“Why are you that fucking competent?” he says, and it sounds _this_ close to whining.

“It’s one of the reasons why you keep me, sir.”

He stares at her, and allows, “Again, you have a point.”

Maria says nothing and simply stares back.

“Fine!” The director throws his hands – as close to a sign of defeat as he is willing to present – and the noise he makes is a mix of exasperation, irritation, and agitation. “Lately your girlfriend has been glaring at me whenever we’re in the same vicinity because she _blames_ me for the lack of time you’ve been spending together these past few weeks! Fucking hell, ever received a glare from that woman? I swear to Thor if she weren’t such a valuable asset I would send her to goddamn Asgard – that skill of hers will be put to good use in terrifying some aliens and making them cry for their mamas.”

He points an accusing finger at her. “You are gonna take those five fucking days off so that I could have some breathing room in my own goddamn building.”

Well then.

Maria is expecting a motive, but she’s certainly not expecting _that_ motive.

Before she can answer, he waves a hand to the door. “Go, Agent Hill,” he tells her. “That’s an order.”

She tips her head in a semblance of a salute, turns around, and exits the room.

 

Looking for things to do in her free time is going to be a real challenge. She hopes Natasha knows what she’s doing.

 

****

 

Maria feels a change in the atmosphere when she comes back from her leave.

Agents, even high-level ones, look at her with something that if she were a bigheaded snob she could classify as awe and reverence.

It’s weird, since usually they look at her with grudging respect mixed with envy – she’s a woman with a rank higher than theirs, after all.

Several younger agents also approach her – though she can see they are scared witless – to thank her.

She tilts her head and asks them, not unkindly, “For what?”

“For being the best trainer ever,” one of them says. Then they scurry away.

She shakes her head and continues on her way.

Coulson falls into step beside her, file clutched in his arms.

“Maria,” he greets.

“Phil,” she greets back.

“How’s life?”

“So-so,” she says. “What’s with everyone?”

He smirks. “They just realized how extremely capable you are, and how important you are to the team.”

“What?”

“No one would challenge your right to your position now.”

“I don’t understand.”

Phil sighs. “You’re much too humble for your own good.”

She sighs, too. “I don’t understand,” she repeats.

Phil hugs his file closer to his chest, and explains, “While you’re on leave, Fury assigned eight Level 6 agents to see to your responsibilities as his deputy.”

“And?”

“And they managed to mess it all up so completely that Fury threatened to send them to Antarctica for 12 months. He said that if they ever show him their faces again he’s gonna put them in one of our wonky submarines leftover from WWII and ship them off himself.”

Maria winces. “Geez.”

“Yeah. And those meetings with WSC and other bureaus?” he trails off.

Maria groans. “I don’t wanna hear this.”

Phil nods, sympathetic. “You know diplomacy is not his strongest suit.”

“Understatement of the century.” Maria exhales loudly. “I think I’m gonna have a headache.”

“On the bright side,” he pats her shoulder consolingly, “I told you, no one’s questioning your ability to get the job done anymore.”

They reach her office. She turns to him. “I don’t know if that’s worth this mess,” she admits, before going in.

 

****

 

Fury calls for her in his office again.

He has his head on both his hands when she enters.

“Sir.”

Fury looks up at her, and he looks so tired and, well, _furious_. Certainly living up to his name, that’s for sure.

“You,” he says, and his voice is tight with frustration, “are never allowed to take a 120-consecutive-hour break again. _Ever_. Am I making myself clear?”

She blinks at him, much like the last time, taken aback. “Yes, sir.”

“I don’t give a fuck anymore if the Widow decides to harass me with her damn glares; you are not allowed to leave. This goddamn agency would fall apart with the amount of stupidity I had to fucking deal with. Why did we even hire those idiots? Such incompetent foolish dumbasses. Bungling bunch of bastards.” He growls. “Go fix their fucking mess, Hill.”

She stands at attention. She refrains from commenting that she needs to fix his mess, too. “Yes, sir,” she says, before exiting the office to follow his orders.

She sets up a meeting with the bureaucrats he pissed off. Her only hope is that they aren’t as touchy as he is right now. It’s better not to hold her breath for that, though.

After all, it wouldn’t be her life if there’s no challenge at every turn.

 


	13. Merida

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship  
> \- Set in the same universe as Chapter 12: Leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

The Stark Tower has been the unofficial residence of the Avengers for quite a while now – which, of course, means that each of the Avengers has their own floor to themselves.

(Stark is nothing if not generous, Maria would give him that.)

As the Assistant Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. _and_ the girlfriend of the Black Widow, Maria is also entitled to the building.

She steps into the elevator and slides in her keycard. A panel opens to scan her. When her identity is confirmed, a voice greets, “Good afternoon, Assistant Director Hill.”

“Good afternoon, JARVIS. Do you know where Natasha is?”

“Specialist Romanoff has gone out with Specialist Barton, Miss Lewis, and Captain Rogers 47 minutes ago. They were yelling something about, and I quote, ‘seeing who the best damn tactician is.’ I believe they went to a laser tag arena downtown.”

Maria pinches the bridge of her nose. “Why am I not surprised? Seriously, they’re like overgrown children.”

“I agree with that assessment, Assistant Director Hill.”

Maria smiles – for an AI, JARVIS sure sounds plenty aggravated.

“Are the others in the building?”

“Yes. Mr. Thor and Miss Foster are in the rooftop, and I think Miss Potts is berating Sir again in her office. Mr. Banner is sleeping in his quarters.”

“Okay.” Everyone’s accounted for, and not for the first time does Maria wish her agents are as proficient as JARVIS.

“Would you still like Specialist Romanoff’s floor?”

“Yes, that would be nice.” Even if Natasha’s not there, Maria would still like a warm bath. Maybe she’d also be able to sneak in a couple of hours of rest before the others get back.

Who knows what shenanigans they’d get up to again, and they tend to get loud.

When the elevator door opens, Maria says, “Thank you, JARVIS.”

“You are most welcome, Assistant Director Hill.”

 

****

 

A long, warm, delightful bath and two hours of sleep later, Maria finds herself in one of the entertainment floors Stark insisted are necessary for a ‘stress-free working environment.’ After perusing the extensive list of films, she chooses to watch something light.

She is just about done with the opening sequence of Disney’s _Brave_ when Natasha comes in.

Maria hits Pause.

“Hey,” she says as Natasha plops down beside her on the nest-like couch.

Natasha just hums, and then puts a hand behind Maria’s neck to pull her in for a kiss.

“Hey,” Natasha says back after they part. “JARVIS told me where to find you the second I entered the building.” There’s surprise in her eyes – invisible to other people, but Maria’s getting the hang of reading Natasha. “I didn’t expect you to be here today.”

“Yeah, well, Fury’s ordered me to take five days off. Apparently someone,” she looks at Natasha pointedly, “bullied him into making me do so.”

Natasha smirks, and she seems so proud of herself. “I knew he’d give in sooner or later.”

Maria shakes her head fondly. “He seemed genuinely upset, you know. I think he’s traumatized.”

Natasha shrugs unapologetically. “Tough luck.” She scoots ever closer and drops her head on Maria’s shoulder.

Maria puts an arm around the redhead, shifting to make her more comfortable. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much,” she says.

“You’re here now,” Natasha murmurs. “It’s okay.”

Maria smiles, kisses the crown of Natasha’s head, and hits Play.

“What are you watching?”

“ _Brave_.”

“Who’s brave?” she sounds confused.

Maria chuckles. “Its title is _Brave_ ,” she clarifies. “It’s a Disney film.”

“Oh.”

They watch quietly. When they get to the part where Merida enters the competition for her own marriage, Maria softly laughs.

“What’s funny?” Natasha asks.

Maria grins. “I just think Merida would be your daughter if ever Hawkeye got you pregnant.”

It’s unfortunate that that’s the moment the others come in.

It’s even more unfortunate that they hear the tail end of Maria’s statement.

“What?!” Darcy screeches, almost dropping the bowl of ice cream cradled in her arms.

Both Maria and Natasha wince.

“Who got pregnant?” Pepper asks.

“Someone’s pregnant?” Stark yells, alarmed.

“It’s good news, right? Babies are nice,” says Steve.

“Oh my gods, he’s going to be a father,” Jane has a hand to her mouth.

“Who’s gonna be a father?” Thor inquires, behind Jane.

“Clint, apparently,” Bruce answers, a hand on his temple.

“ _Me_?” Clint’s eyes are as wide as saucers. He looks at Natasha with panic. “How long have you been pregnant?”

Natasha stares at him, baffled. “Clint,” she begins, and her tone is dreadfully neutral, “we don’t even have sex together.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Oh.” He breathes out. “Right.”

Maria hugs a pillow to her chest and buries her face in it, trying to muffle her giggles.

She isn’t very successful.

There’s an annoyed huff beside her, and she looks up to see Natasha scowling at her. “It’s not funny.”

“It kind of is,” Maria says.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“No, you won’t.”

Natasha rubs a hand on her face. “No,” she concedes. “No, I won’t.” She turns her scowl to the others. “But them, I might.”

Darcy raises both hands. “Hey, hey, I’m innocent. This is all a misunderstanding, yes? Good. Okay.” Without hesitation she sits beside Natasha. “But still, I need to ask who got pregnant.”

Natasha groans.

Maria explains, “No one. I merely pointed out that should Nat and Clint ever have a child together, it’d be Merida.”

“Who is Merida?” asks Thor, sitting beside Darcy, Jane on his lap.

“The film’s main character,” Maria replies.

“It’s making sense now,” Pepper says, sitting beside Maria, Tony in tow.

“No, it’s not,” Tony quips. “I have no idea what a Merida is.”

Steve sits beside Tony, Bruce trailing after. “Is this one of those modern animated films?”

“Yes,” Bruce says. “I think it is Disney’s.”

“Oh. I am a bit familiar with the old ones Disney produced.”

“Wanna watch from the beginning?” Maria asks them.

“If it’s okay with you,” Steve answers.

(He never says no to opportunities to catch up with modern culture.)

“I would like to see it as well, Lady Hill,” Thor adds.

(He never says no to opportunities to better acquaint himself with Midgardian culture.)

“Yeah, sure, we’re not even halfway through so it’s no big deal,” she says.

“Okay,” Tony claps, “JARVIS, from the top, please.”

JARVIS’s refined English voice filters through the system, “Yes, sir.”

 

****

 

When the film ends, all of them are in agreement that it is indeed possible that should the Hawk and the Spider have a child together, it would be Merida.

 

(Well, all but the Hawk and the Spider themselves, of course.)

 

 


	14. Necktie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship  
> \- In which clothing is a huge turn-on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

Natasha is fairly certain that she has never seen someone look quite as hot as Maria in a formal suit. And it’s not just any formal suit either – it’s a custom-made three-piece attire topped off with a satin cobalt necktie that perfectly highlights her eyes. Tailored slacks flawlessly encase her long lean legs, and her polished black oxfords complete the dapper look.

She is waiting by the door of their apartment, adjusting her cuffs and clearly oblivious to how she’s hitting all of Natasha’s buttons in _all_ the right ways. “You ready?” she asks, and her eyebrows shoot up when she finally takes in Natasha’s outfit – an emerald green gown that nicely complements her red hair, and a pair of fuck-me pumps. “You look absolutely wonderful,” she says with an appreciative gleam in her eyes.

Natasha stares at her wordlessly.

Maria frowns, suddenly worried. She approaches Natasha in three long strides, and she tips Natasha’s chin with a finger, prompting the smaller woman to meet her gaze. “Is something the matter?”

Natasha shakes her head.

Maria doesn’t seem to buy that. “ _Nat_.”

Natasha smiles, takes Maria’s hand and twines their fingers together. “I promise I’m okay.”

“Then why did you look like you’re going to have a conniption?” Maria pushes, still worried.

Natasha swallows, not sure how to say exactly why she reacted the way she did. There’s just something about this attire that amplifies that intense magnetism Maria naturally exudes, something that lifts her usually cool façade into one of scorching heat that makes Natasha feel melted and frozen at the same time. She’s not sure how to say all that in a way that makes even the least kind of sense, and so she settles for the most basic and yet not any less true, “You look very hot.”

Maria’s expression smoothes out, as if she can’t believe she just heard that from Natasha’s lips, before settling into one of genuine surprise mixed with delight. “You like it?” she asks, and she sounds almost shy.

Natasha nods, once, never talking her eyes off Maria. “Very much.”

“I’m glad,” Maria exhales in relief. “I was rather hoping you would.”

Natasha chuckles quietly, trailing a fingertip over the tie. “Where did you even get this?”

“I might have pulled some strings,” Maria shrugs.

Natasha hums and raises an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Maria relents, “I called Pepper and asked for advice.”

“Why?”

Maria squeezes Natasha’s hand in hers. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“That you did.”

“I figured it’s the perfect opportunity to fulfill one of your fantasies,” Maria adds, and her voice is lower, richer, and it strikes a chord in Natasha’s heart that makes it beat faster than ever, “and you _did_ tell me having me in an outfit like this is one of them.”

Natasha hums again and before Maria knows what’s happening Natasha tugs at the necktie to pull her down, swallowing her gasp with an open-mouthed kiss. She leaves a wet trail down Maria’s throat, and Maria moans as Natasha presses her against the door.

“Nat,” Maria pants, trying and failing to push Natasha back. “You’re going to wrinkle our clothes.”

“I don’t care,” Natasha breathes against Maria’s shoulder.

“And you’re going to ruin your make-up.”

“I don’t care.”

“Natasha,” Maria tries again, and it’s obvious how difficult it is for her to get her words out, “if you don’t stop right now we’ll be late for the party because I’m going to fuck you against this door until you could barely stand up.”

Natasha inhales sharply as Maria’s words stoke a raging fire in her belly, and she tugs harder at the blue piece of clothing she’s gripping almost desperately. “ _Do it_ ,” she says and her voice is just a whisper yet it is dripping with need.

And with that Maria releases an almost pained groan – as if all her self-control has just left her without warning and she doesn’t quite know how to adapt to its lost – and she reclaims Natasha’s lips in a savagely passionate kiss, surging forward like a divine riptide, shoving Natasha roughly against the door. The press of their chests together sends delicious shivers down Natasha’s spine, and the way they fit like puzzle pieces makes her heart swell with joy.

Maria pulls back for a moment and then attacks Natasha’s throat with single-minded ferocity, and if Natasha didn’t know any better she would have thought Maria’s trying to make her come just by kissing her. But no, Maria’s a much too thorough lover for that, and Natasha’s sure that in several more minutes she’s going to be little more than a trembling mess.

Maria’s hands slide on Natasha’s waist and trace the shape of Natasha’s body before cupping Natasha’s breasts in an almost reverent gesture – in direct contrast with the way her mouth is now laying siege on every piece of skin she can reach. The tips of her fingers glance over Natasha’s nipples and Natasha grips the back of Maria’s head helplessly, her hands grasping at black silken strands.

Maria growls – and she kind of reminds Natasha of a panther, in that moment – and she kisses Natasha again, and Natasha’s skin is hot and crackling with bolts of lightning, and she is positively _wet_. Maria reaches behind Natasha to unzip her dress, pushing at it until it slides down and pools at Natasha’s feet.

Natasha whimpers when Maria cups her breasts again – this time without any barriers – and her fingers paint a fiery trail down Natasha’s body, skimming over her damp lace underwear.

Maria laughs softly. “Wow, someone’s eager.” Her hand slips inside the lacy material – really, it’s made of fabric so flimsy it almost doesn’t exist – and gives an experimental swipe.

Natasha bites back a moan.

“I didn’t know neckties are such a turn-on,” Maria says, and her amusement is obvious. “Well, neckties and suits, I guess.”

“You wearing that tie and that impeccable three-piece,” Natasha breathes heavily, “should be illegal.”

“Sure,” Maria laughs again. “And so should you. You look very fuck-able right now. You always do, but still.” Another swipe, and Natasha bucks against her hand.

“Stop teasing,” Natasha whines, tugging at the necktie again.

Then Maria slides a finger inside her, and then another, and then another. Her strokes are slow and deep and deliberate, and when her thumb presses on Natasha’s clit, Natasha cries out in pleasure.

Maria’s movements turn faster, and soon the obscene wet sounds of sex is filling the room, and then Maria’s kneeling before her and Natasha almost jumps when Maria’s mouth comes into contact with her over-sensitized flesh. Her fingers – still buried deep in Natasha – crook ever so slightly and hit that spot in a way that never fails to make Natasha see stars. She comes with a strangled cry, but Maria is unyielding, and then she’s fucking Natasha with her tongue, eating her out like she’s born for it.

Natasha rolls her hips and pulls at Maria’s hair none-too-gently, and Maria’s eyes flash with something dangerous. She runs her teeth over Natasha’s clit – and the bite is not even hard, no, it’s tender, but Natasha’s much too sensitive, and the stimulation is almost too much – and then Maria flicks her eyes up to meet Natasha’s gaze, and her hum of satisfaction resonates through Natasha’s body.

She comes a second time, and then a third.

 

She stops counting after that.

 

****

 

They reach the party forty-five minutes late, and if the others notice how Natasha can’t quite sit still or how Maria’s smile is mostly smug, they wisely don’t say anything.

It’s never a good idea to challenge the two no matter the reason, after all.

 

 

 

 


	15. Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship.  
> \- In which they listen to classical music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

Natasha has always known that Maria Hill is an extraordinary human being.

Seeing her make wonderful music kind of reinforces that belief in an enormous scale.

 

****

 

It takes Natasha by surprise, really. Not the part where Maria can play the shit out of the instrument – which, okay, is not the best review ever, but she’s not a music critic or anything, so it will have to do – because, _duh_ , obviously Maria can excel at everything she tries her hand on.

Which, in this case, is playing the violin.

No, Natasha’s not shocked by that.

But she is shocked by the part where she’s only just become aware of it.

She’s been dating Maria for like, _months_ now, and in all that time the topic hadn’t been broached.

Which, okay, is not that big of a deal when she thinks about it.

Except for the part where it totally _is_.

She’s a superspy – she’s known for her propensity for getting information – and yet this little thing has flown completely under her radar.

And the thing is, she’s not even discovered it herself, not really.

Maria tells her about it as if she’s not dropping an informational bomb.

 

****

 

It is during one of those nights they spend in Maria’s room – which, fine, kind of happens a lot – and Natasha asks about the cassette player lying on the corner table.

“I never see you use that,” Natasha says. “Is it still working?”

“Yes,” Maria replies, taking a sip of her wine before setting down her glass. She walks over the table and pulls open its drawer. Natasha catches a glimpse of quite a collection of cassette tapes.

“Whoa,” Natasha smiles and teases, “I always knew you were an old soul.”

“You have no idea how old,” Maria tells her, fingers going over the cases. She seems to find what she’s looking for and lifts it up. “A-ha.”

“What’s that?”

“Just listen to it.” Maria sets the player up and inserts the cassette. Strains of operatic music fill the room.

“An opera? Really?” Natasha looks at Maria skeptically. “You’re right. I’d no idea how old your soul is.”

“Quiet,” Maria hushes her with an annoyed scowl. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been exposed to enough of this music to actually have favorites.”

“Are you being purposely infuriating right now?”

“Fine, fine,” Natasha raises her hands. “What’s it called?”

“Verdi’s _La Donna e Mobile_ , Act. 3 of _Rigoletto_ ,” is the automatic reply.

“Okay,” Natasha blinks. “I didn’t take you for an opera aficionado.”

“It’s not just opera,” Maria says. “I love classical music.”

“You do?” Natasha tracks Maria’s movements as she crosses the room.

“Yeah,” Maria drops to her knees and rummages under her bed, “it’s kind of like, an escape for me when the real world proves to be too much.”

“You like listening to dead people’s compositions?”

“I like playing dead people’s compositions.” Maria glares at her as she slides something out from its hiding spot.

Natasha stares at the object.

It takes her several moments to recognize it as a violin case.

“That’s a violin case,” she says, needlessly.

“Yes.”

“With a real violin inside?”

“No, Natasha, I’m in the habit of keeping instrument cases without the actual instruments just because.”

“Don’t be smartass.”

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Maria retorts.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know about this.”

“You never asked.”

“I’m a superspy! I don’t ask these kinds of stuff!” Natasha seems plenty agitated, making Maria chuckle.

“Well, I work for an intelligence super-agency, which means I can keep secrets from superspies.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t know about this.”

“You already said that.”

“I know. I need to repeat it. Because this is just unbelievable.”

“Don’t take it too hard,” Maria says, opening the case and taking out the instrument.

“Too late, I already do,” Natasha mumbles, eyeing the violin warily.

Maria laughs and then moves to turn off the player. “Couples do need to surprise each other sometimes, you know. Keeps both parties on their toes.”

“You’re doing a pretty good job at that.”

“Excellent.” Maria’s hands run over the violin gently, almost as if it's a long-lost lover.

Natasha never takes her eyes off of Maria as she goes through the fine-tuning.

Maria stands straight in the middle of the room, and she seems at peace – not in the usual way, no – it’s different. Her lips are upturned oh-so-slightly, and she takes a deep breath. She places the instrument on her shoulder, tucks her chin in, and draws the bow.

And Natasha feels like she’s on the wings of a song of the angels.

The notes soaring around them seem to sink into Natasha’s skin and it is magnificent.

Maria’s playing is almost brutal in its gentleness, almost cruel in its tenderness.

And Natasha can’t help but watch her in awe as she transports her to another world.

 

****

 

“That is a beautiful instrument,” Natasha says, and her voice is raspy. She’s not sure why.

Maria hums. “The violin is not called the ‘queen’ of musical instruments for nothing.”

“What’s that piece you just played?”

“Rovel’s _Tzigane_.”

“It’s… uh… it’s something.”

Maria bites back a grin. “Yeah?”

“You play… beautifully.”

Maria ducks her head. “Thanks, I guess.”

Natasha clears her throat. “So. Uh. Play me something again?”

Maria doesn’t bother hiding her grin this time. “Sure.”

 

****

 

“Coulson.”

Coulson raises his head from typing his reports. “Hmm?”

“How long has Maria played the violin?”

“Oh,” he sits straighter, lips forming a rather wistful smile. “She started before entering middle school, I think.”

“She’s… she plays brilliantly.”

“Well, yes. If she weren’t so inclined in saving the world she could have been a world-class musician. She’s practically a virtuoso with the violin. And the piano, which is a given, if you’re close with the Carters. And she’s fairly capable with the cello, too.”

That’s new information that takes Natasha by surprise. Again. “She plays the _cello_?”

“Yeah, she and Aubrey bonded over that when I first introduced them. Their rendition of _Le Cygne_ was marvelous.”

“She has far too many talents for her own good.”

Coulson nods. “You should hear her play Brahm’s Op.78, Violin Sonata No.1 in G Major.”

“She already did.”

“Exceptional, right?”

“It’s like I was walking through a garden during a rainy day and someone I love is waiting for me.”

Coulson leans on his elbows. “Ask her for _Salut d_ ’ _Amour_. You won’t be disappointed.”

Natasha fiddles with a pen. She says, almost absently, “I don’t think she could ever disappoint me.”

 

****

 

“Why have you never told me you’re a musical genius?”

Maria, spread out on her couch, looks up from reading a novel. “What?”

“You’re a musical genius.”

Maria sets her book aside. “I am not.”

“You’re gifted.”

“Nat –”

“Why do you keep on fighting battles when you could be doing something safer?”

“Nat –”

“It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Nat –”

“I mean, you could like, join some kind of orchestra or something and –”

Maria smacks a hand over Natasha’s mouth. “Can you just stop talking for a second, please.”

Natasha remains silent, thankfully.

“I love my job. And though I love music too, I can’t see myself doing it for the rest of my life.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Maria drops her hand, waves it aimlessly, “I love what I do now. There’s really nothing more to it than that.”

They talk no more of possible career changes after that.

 

****

 

“Teach me one piece.”

Maria looks at her with a raised eyebrow, but says, “Which one?”

“ _Ave Maria_. The one by Schubert.”

Maria shoots her a small smile. “Seriously?”

Natasha nods earnestly.

A pause.

“All right.”

 

****

 

“Pluck the string with your finger, like this.”

“What am I doing, exactly?”

“ _Pizzicato_.”

 

****

 

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“That…thing.”

“It’s called _col legno_. I just hit the strings with part of the bow, instead of moving the length of it over. Here, try it.”

Natasha fumbles with it for several tries, but Maria seems pleased with her progress.

“Once more, _andante_.”

 

 


	16. Profess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship (without the words yet, no)  
> \- Some more fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

**Tash** :

Hey, Clint.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

What do you want?

– H

 

 **Tash** :

What makes you think I want anything?

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

Well, don’t you?

– H

 

 **Tash** :

Whatever.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

So what is it?

– H

 

 **Tash** :

When’s the best time to profess your love to someone?

– BW

 

Clint blinks at the message. Oh. He smiles a little. His partner seems to be waking up from her idiotic haze, then.

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

Before someone else does.

– H

 

****

 

“I love you.”

Maria is rarely rendered speechless. She can count on one hand the number of people left who could do that to her and even that is more than enough.

Natasha Romanoff (Code Name: Black Widow; Asset 506 BLKWID 4-582), it appears, is one of those people.

Maria freezes in her movements, and her eyes are wide as she gapes at Natasha, standing before her with a look of intense concentration. They are on their way to lunch, but apparently Natasha has other ideas.

“Oh,” Maria tries to scrape her jaw up from where it fell on the floor. She’s not sure she’s very successful. “Uh…”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just thought you should know.”

Once again Maria fumbles for her words. And really, it’s not her fault. Their relationship – as it is – is a complicated one. And she knows that people always say that about their own relationships, but _still_. They haven’t been with Natasha Romanoff – and if Maria has any say in this subject she’ll make sure they won’t, ever, _because_ … well.

Ugh. The point is: Maria’s at a loss. They both have their respective emotional and mental baggage to deal with, and even half of those would take years for the best psychologists to work loose. So Maria’s kind of always thought that should they ever be ready to say _the_ words, it would be in the far future.

Maria’s also thought that it would be her who’d say them first – because though her life’s not a picnic, it’s not nearly as tormented as Natasha’s had been.

She’s actually kind of looking forward to that day, too, when she’s ready and Natasha’s ready and she could tell the redhead what she really feels.

But well.

Natasha is always a glitch in Maria’s plans.

Every single time, she unravels whatever Maria has in place, and Maria admits that she doesn’t really mind.

Case in point. As it is.

“Uh,” Maria tries to speak again, when she works through the sub-Saharan dryness in her throat. “Was that… did you just confess your love to me?”

Natasha regards her closely, but remains unmoving. “I hate that word.”

Maria frowns. “Love?”

“No,” Natasha shakes her head. “Confess.”

“What, why?”

“I don’t think feelings should be confessed,” Natasha says, and there’s a kind of strength behind her words that Maria hasn’t heard before, but has always seen behind Natasha’s eyes. “I don’t think _love_ should be confessed. I mean, people talk about love like it’s this world-changing miracle, this heart-stopping thing, but then they also talk about _confessing_ it, like it’s some sin that they need to be sorry for.”

Speechless. Once more. Maria’s getting sick of being speechless – thrice in a single conversation? No, that’s not her. So she forces her words past her mouth. “I… never thought of it that way.”

Natasha shrugs, a casual movement. As if she hasn’t just turned Maria’s world upside down. As if she hasn’t just rendered the laws of physics moot for Maria, because she’s her center now. “It’s just that you know, confession denotes admitting something, and yes, that something might be, I don’t know, maybe feelings. But to confess is to disclose stuff – and that doesn’t sit well with me because it makes me feel like I’m looking for absolution when I’m not.” Her gaze captures Maria in its stronghold, as if it’s a tangible thing. “I will never feel sorry, and I will never ask for forgiveness for the way I feel about you.”

“So what is this?” Maria asks.

Another shrug – and it doesn’t really warn Maria of what’s coming next. “It’s a profession,” Natasha says, “A declaration of my love for you. It’s an affirmation of my belief, an avowal of my faith in what we have, in what we share. It’s my way of saying that no matter how crazy the world is and may be – _will_ be – in the future, no matter what comes next, this will stay. _I_ will stay.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows, and it’s the only indication that she’s as nervous with this as Maria is. Nevertheless, she carries on, “And I know that I’m not always the easiest person to get to know, or spend time with, or you know, feel something for, but I do really love you. I’m in love you. And I don’t want you to give up on me, because I know I still have a lot to work for, a lot to atone for – but what I feel is not one of those – and I’m just really –”

And the rest of her ramble is lost on Maria’s lips, and Natasha’s hands instinctively go around Maria, clutching at her desperately.

“I don’t know where all of that came from,” Maria is smiling against Natasha’s skin, “but I’m glad.”

Natasha nuzzles against Maria. “I just needed to tell you before someone else beat me to it.”

Maria pulls back, cups Natasha’s face in her hands. “There’s no one else, Natasha. Only you.” She kisses her chastely. “Always you.”

Natasha smiles – that little smile that’s soft around the edges and warm and genuine and rare. “Still. I like to cover my bases.”

Maria kisses her again – as if she can’t help it, and well, she can’t. “I love you.”

Natasha stills in her arms.

Maria chuckles. “Don’t act so shocked.”

“I… just… uhm.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only speechless one here now.”

Natasha groans, dropping her head on Maria’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

 

****

 

 **Tash** :

CLINT

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

What?

– H

**Tash** :

I DID IT.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

TOLD HER YOU LOVE HER?

– H

 

 **Tash** :

YEAH

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

WHAT HAPPENED

– H

 

 **Tash** :

I RAMBLED

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

OH YOU RIDICULOUS CREATURE

– H

 

 **Tash** :

I DON’T EVEN REMEMBER WHAT I SAID

– BW

 

 **Tash** :

PROBS SOMETHING ALONG THE LINES OF AJDAISJDSURHUHFDBFHBSDHBFLOVEYOUKSDNFKSFH

– BW

 

 **Tash** :

I’M KINDA ASHAMED OF MYSELF RIGHT NOW

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

why are we even friends

– H

 

 **Tash** :

I DIDN’T HAVE A CHOICE IN THE MATTER

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

in the BABBLING-IN-FRONT-OF-MARIA thing or in the BEING-FRIENDS-WITH-ME thing

– H

 

 

 **Tash** :

BOTH. I LIKE BOTH.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

YOU LIL SHIT

do you at least remember if she said anything

– H

 

 **Tash** :

Well.

– BW

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

Well what

– H

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

WELL WHAT

– H

**Clinton Cloud** :

I SWEAR TO THOR ANSWER MY TEXTS, WOMAN

– H

**Clinton Cloud** :

DON’T LEAVE ME FUCKING HANGING HERE

– H

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

YOU DEVIOUS ASSHOLE

– H

 

 **Clinton Cloud** :

I HATE YOU

– H

 

Clint is too focused on staring at the screen, waiting for the woman’s answer that he almost misses the dart shot to his left.

 _He_ ’ _s Hawkeye_.

Grousing under his breath about the _way_ off-base aim of the new recruits, he picks up the dart and sees the strip of paper wrapped around it like a ribbon. He unties it and reads the message scrawled in a small, neat print:

 _Weaving webs_.

 _Answering roars_.

 

He beams, and puts the note in his breast pocket. A weight is lifted off his shoulders, and he’s even willing to forgive Natasha the unnecessary distress she caused him.

He walks away whistling.

 


	17. Quarantine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship  
> \- In which leaving is not an option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

**DANGER**

_QUARANTINE AREA_

_DO NOT ENTER_

 

****

 

 _It_ ’ _s not supposed to be like this_.

Maria’s supposed to be in her Helicarrier’s command post. She’s supposed to be up in the air with her agents and away from the hazards in the Slingshot.

She’s not supposed to be near enough to get exposed when the 0-8-4’s inadvertently activated.

She’s not supposed to be in the direct line of danger.

And Natasha knows that the nature of their profession puts them in _the_ direct line of danger more often than not, but _come on_.

This isn’t supposed to be one of those instances.

“She’s not supposed to be there,” Natasha says, because _Maria_ ’ _s not supposed to be there_ and she can’t quite put enough emphasis on that fact.

Clint nods in agreement and his face is grim but he doesn’t say anything because there isn’t really that much to say.

And all they can do is watch Maria Hill through the glass wall as she lies on the bed unmoving.

 

****

 

Maria’s exposure to the 0-8-4 – which turns out to be some sort of bio-weapon with alien origins – makes her a carrier of its particles. Unless the effects could be reversed, anyone who touches her would be infected as well. Even hazmat suits would not completely protect one from the contamination.

Bruce is the only one capable of looking after Maria in this state, since his genetic make-up is not entirely human and the 0-8-4 would have little to no effect on him.

When Natasha called him to explain the circumstances, he had promised to come as quickly as he can, and sure enough he arrives in the Helicarrier’s med wing in under an hour. Natasha rushes to him as soon as he appears on the doorway, and he drops his bags to accommodate her bone-crushing hug, her fingers tight on his coat.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes her, rubbing his hand up and down her back as she sobs against his chest. He catches Clint’s eye, asking about the situation without using words.

The taut line of Clint’s lips is not reassuring.

“I’ll go inside now,” Bruce tells Natasha.

Natasha draws back, and he has never seen so much desperation in her face before. It’s troubling to see the Black Widow so distraught. “Please,” she says, voice breaking over the syllable. “I –” she starts, and then trails off when her breath catches.

“I’ll do my best,” he tries to assure her though if her stiffening in his arms is any indication he isn’t very successful.

Nevertheless she nods, letting go of his coat.

Giving her one final pat on the head, he goes into the room.

 

****

 

Bruce acts swiftly and meticulously, going over the medical reports Dr. Goodman gave him earlier. The data the med team gathered aren’t remotely enough – there are restrictions when dealing with anyone exposed to unclassified substances, after all, and they couldn’t really do much more than the basic check-up without compromising their own health. Furthermore, he reads, it was specified in the Slingshot’s record that the 0-8-4 emits unidentified types of extraterrestrial energy – human contact with which would result in death.

No wonder the quarantine parameters for Maria right now are harsher and stricter than usual.

Well. It seems he has his work cut out for him.

Rolling the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, he sets about to making an antidote.

 

****

 

Natasha watches as Bruce works inside the quarantine area, not wanting to miss anything.

“I should go inside,” she says.

Clint sighs. “Maria wouldn’t want you to do that.”

“She’s unconscious.”

“Nat.”

Natasha buries her face in her hands. “I fucked up. This is my fault.”

“You know it’s not,” Clint says, frowning though Natasha can’t see him. “No one could have foreseen what happened. It’s an accident.”

Natasha doesn’t seem to hear him, though, and her voice is filled with so intense a despair that Clint feels a chill run through him, “I wouldn’t know what to do if something happens to her, Clint.”

 

****

 

She feels air rush to her lungs when Maria wakes up.

She nearly breaks through the glass door to hug her and assure herself that Maria’s alive, but Clint subdues her.

“Hey, hey,” Clint says, and he feels bruises forming on his abdomen and thighs from where Natasha hit him.

“Let me go,” she says, eyes on Maria’s face.

Maria notices the commotion, and she meets Natasha’s gaze. She raises a hand and gives a meek wave.

Natasha stills.

Maria smiles and mouths, “I love you.”

 

****

 

“Do you have any trouble breathing?” Bruce asks.

Maria tries to assess herself as objectively as possible. “A little bit, yes, though I think that’s just… apprehension.”

Bruce nods understandingly. “I could administer some sedatives for you, if you want,” he offers.

Maria shakes her head. “No, I want to stay alert if I can help it. Thanks, though.”

“Sure. Do you feel any other problems?”

Maria shrugs. “Well, except from the fact that I’m dying, nope, there’s no problem at all.”

Bruce flinches, faltering from prepping the syringe.

Maria attempts to smile apologetically but it comes out as a grimace. “Too soon?”

“Yeah.”

“So stay away from death jokes. Got it.”

 

****

 

Bruce’s voice echoes from the speakers outside the pod. “She’s stable for now, but I need to inject her with dendrotoxin every hour to slow down the effects of the 0-8-4. I’m working on the antidote, but it would be faster if you can send over some of Dr. Simmons’ work on Kree biology.”

“It’s from the Krees?” Clint asks.

“There are considerable similarities with the molecular structure.”

“Okay,” Clint nods. He turns to Natasha. “I’ll call Agent Weaver. Stay here.”

Natasha ignores him and remains silent.

He doesn’t mind.

 

****

 

When Clint returns, Natasha’s already inside.

She’s curled around Maria as they sleep on the same bunk.

He _minds_.

Clint runs a hand over his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck, Bruce? Why did you let her inside?”

Bruce shrugs. “It’s either let her in peacefully or let her break the walls and risk the spread of the infection.” A corner of his mouth lifts up in a rueful smile. “Besides, I can’t argue with her, you know.”

“Can’t argu – what argument is she even capable of right now?”

Bruce stares at him. “Now I have twice the reason to speed things up.”

 

****

 

Maria traces random patterns on Natasha’s arm as the redhead nuzzles to her neck. “You didn’t have to share this with me, you know,” she murmurs.

“Don’t be stupid,” Natasha says. “I’m not letting you go so easily.”

“Nat,” Maria sighs, “you shouldn’t have come.”

Natasha lifts her head up to look Maria in the eyes. “Leaving is never an option. Not when it comes to you.”

“But –”

“No buts,” Natasha stops her. “If we’re going to die, we’re going to die together. Okay?”

Maria seems to want to say something else, but she smiles her half-smile instead. “Okay,” she agrees, softly. She kisses Natasha’s forehead. “Okay,” she repeats.

Their moment is interrupted when Bruce clears his throat, holding out two vials triumphantly. “Fortunately,” he says, “there’s no need for anyone to die today.”

He grins at them.

They grin back.

 

****

 

Later, when they’re cleared to go out of the pod, Maria tells Natasha that they should head out for a victory dinner.

“Victory?” Natasha raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Maria says, “we’ve held off death today, didn’t we?”

“I’m pretty sure Bruce was the one who did that.”

Maria rolls her eyes. She turns to go. “Are you coming?” she throws over her shoulder.

Natasha smirks. “By the end of today hopefully I will be.”

Maria huffs exasperatedly. “Don't stop talking and I swear you won't be, Specialist.”

Natasha shuts up.

 


	18. Roadtrip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship  
> \- In which they go on a road trip and talk about celestial bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. They were getting bored – well, Natasha was – and Maria’s will was weak against the assassin’s pleas of going somewhere else. And so they got into a decrepit blue truck with stains of dubious origins on its windows, loaded it with a week’s worth of essentials, and drove off into the sunset.

(Technically the sun had already set when they drove away, but whatever. Details.)

So now they are in the middle of nowhere.

(Except when she’s with Natasha, everywhere is home to Maria.)

Far away from civilization and the complexities it brings, she’s sure she’s in some kind of heaven.

 

****

 

Maria was looking at Natasha with a little frown that seemed to convey both confusion and reluctant amusement. “You’re… blonde.”

Natasha smirked and ran a hand through her newly-dyed – and cropped so that it barely fell past her shoulders – hair. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” she said.

“Uh-huh,” Maria stared at her for a few more seconds before turning to the blue beat-up truck parked behind the not-a-superspy-anymore-unless-it-suits-her ex-assassin. “And you committed another vehicular theft.”

Natasha shrugged – a graceful movement of her shoulders. “Not exactly a theft if I left some cash, yeah?”

“We have to work on your definition of various crimes, soon.”

“Sure,” she drawled, and it’s obvious she’s got no intention of following through – they both know it’s a moot point, anyway. She motioned to the duffel bags lying by Maria’s feet. “You packed enough?”

“For several days, yes,” Maria tilted her head. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

Natasha simply beamed at her and picked up the bags, flinging them haphazardly into the truck.

Maria rolled her eyes and read Natasha’s non-answer in a way only she could. “You have no definite plan at all, do you?”

“It’s called a road trip, Maria,” Natasha chuckled. “Exciting, isn’t it?” She opened the door to the passenger seat and gestured for Maria to get in.

Maria did. She waited for Natasha to settle beside her and turn on the ignition before remarking, “I don’t think ‘exciting’ is the word I’d use to describe this endeavor.”

“Well, whatever. It’s exciting for me.”

“What is? The utter lack of preparation? The appallingly high possibility for unmitigated disaster? The questionable safety your truck can offer?”

“Aren’t you a big ball of sunshine,” Natasha deadpanned.

“That would be you, actually, with your pretty blonde hair.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“I didn’t say it is. It’s cool, in fact. The red’s not really doing it for me.”

“Be quiet.”

“So mature,” Maria grinned, fiddling with the radio. It worked fairly decently – the speakers didn’t shudder too badly and the lyrics were recognizable, not too garbled. Notes from an Elvis song floated and filled the air. “Oh, look at that, your stolen truck can even carry a tune.”

“It’s not _stolen_ , and it’s not as dilapidated as you make it out to be,” Natasha objected, but her lips were quirking up ever so slightly.

Maria ignored her grumblings, and turned the volume up a bit and sang along, “ _Love me tender_ , _love me lone_ , _take me to your heart_. _For it_ ' _s to you that I belong_ , _and we_ ' _ll never part_.”

Natasha was staring at the road before them, but she could feel Maria’s gaze as surely as she knew that Maria’s singing those words at her _and_ meaning every one of them. She joined, though in a softer voice, “ _Love me tender_ , _love me true_ , _all my dreams fulfilled_. _For my darling_ , _I love you and I always will_.”

She meant every word she sang as well.

 

(And they sounded really great together, which was a super sweet bonus. If their careers as fighters for justice don’t pan out as planned then they’d still have a future with music, so there’s that.)

 

****

 

They are on the back of the truck, on a nest of blankets and pillows, their legs stretched out before them. They have beers from the cooler crammed in the corner, and they are staring at the open sky – the night is deep and the stars are out and the moon is full.

“Do you know any stories about the stars?” Maria asks, her eyes tracing Orion the Hunter. Her whisper is almost loud amidst the silence that surrounds them.

Natasha takes a sip of her beer. She doesn’t really feel the sting – the alcohol content is much too low for it to have any effect on her. At this point she categorizes American beverages as either caffeine-containing or mere juice. “What, like from the myths?”

“Yes.”

“Not a lot.”

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“Just asking,” Maria says, draining her can and crumpling it.

Natasha tips her head back, stares at the vast expanse of space. “I do like them, though.”

“The myths?”

“The stars.”

“Oh.” Maria says again. She sounds surprised, somewhat.

Natasha lifts a hand up, her fingers gliding as if the skies are her canvas, as if she’s connecting the celestial dots. “When I look up at the stars, I match each one with a reason why I love you.”

She feels Maria shift, feels her watching her. She can feel the smile Maria sends her way. “And?”

Green eyes flick up to meet blue ones. Natasha lets her hand fall down, landing on Maria’s. “And I usually do great. Then I run out of stars.”

 

****

 

Their hands are clasped tightly together as Maria tells Natasha all about her favorite myths and stories.

(Natasha decides that she likes them, too.)

 

****

 

“Hey,” Natasha murmurs.

“Hmm?” Maria snuggles closer to her, and their limbs become even more entangled in the (maddeningly) small space the truck bed could provide.

“Do you think Balder and Hoder and those other Norse people really existed?”

“You’re going to have to ask Thor that.”

“It would be really cool, though, if they did. Wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, sure. Who knows, the Greek and Roman dudes might have existed as well, in one of those realms Thor talks about.”

“Fun.”

“For you. You’d end up in Valhalla, or in the Isles of the Blest. Whichever idea of paradise _this_ realm adheres to.”

“Right,” she scoffs, drawing the syllable out.

“Hey,” Maria bumps her shoulder, “you never know. Or if you don’t end up in Valhalla at least you’ll meet Freya. I hear she’s like, the epitome of beauty.”

“What use would any deity be to me if I already have you?”

Maria groans at the cheesy line, burying her face on the crook of Natasha’s neck. “You and that silver-tongue of yours.” There’s a smile in her voice, stifled though it is.

“It’s good for more than just talking, you know.”

“Oh my gods, just stop,” Maria swats her arm, but she’s laughing. 

Natasha’s eyes are twinkling in the dark. “Besides, doesn’t that only apply to those who die in battle?”

“You’re an Avenger, Nat,” Maria lifts her head up to shoot her a pointed look.

“Huh,” Natasha nods, and then smirks. “I see your point. Dying in battle is a very real job risk.”

“I would prefer it if you stay alive, though.”

“I prefer that as well. That way you can be the one to bring me to Valhalla.” She pauses, and decadent insinuation drips from her words. “Or maybe you can show me Nirvana instead.”

“ _Natasha_.” Natasha chuckles at Maria’s sigh of exasperation.

“I’m just saying –”

“Stop.”

“Geez, touchy, touchy.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Maria says, before pinning Natasha beneath her and swallowing her laughter, shutting her up in the most effective way she knows.

 

(And she does show Natasha her Nirvana.

That’s much later, though.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for my delayed updates.  
> I've been facing some personal issues, and I honestly have no idea on how to deal with them. I've been consumed by this longing that I don't know how to assuage. I haven't felt anything like this for anyone before. Anyway.  
> To put it simply: I fell.  
> And fuck, I don't know how to pick myself right back up.
> 
> (And also I was finishing my thesis. Which was difficult all on its own, but then heart matters decided to make an appearance as well. Timing, right?)


	19. Shorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Pre-Relationship  
> \- In which Natasha is forced into admitting feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

Natasha and Clint don’t see the point of using the sparring rooms. They know that mats and rings can’t restrict actual life-or-death fights. They are also much more accustomed to exploiting the environment they’re in to their fullest advantage during combat. As such, they instead use the upper floors of the building – the ones specifically for the Avengers, but not for them _individually_ – as their training area.

At last count, they have broken 23 overhead lights, 21 speakers, 16 tables, 13 chairs, and 4 indoor fountains.

Stark doesn’t really mind. He takes it all as opportunities to experiment with interior design.

(The first time they broke some tables, Stark replaced the whole set. The spares, he told them to ‘have fun with.’)

So, yeah, it’s common to see the Hawk hanging on some chandelier to get a clear shot, or the Widow running along on top of a staircase’s banister.

It’s best to get out of their way during these sessions – stay in their personal quarters, perhaps, since those are off-limits.

(Bruce’s lab is off-limits, too, but that’s kind of a given.)

 

****

 

Natasha’s been terribly wound up for several days now – she’s not as smooth, as graceful, and as alert as she usually is. It doesn’t mean that she loses in their matches, though. It just means that it takes her a bit more time to win.

Clint notices this, of course.

“You’re off,” he comments, even as he falls on his stomach with a thud – he’s pinned, her knees bracketing his hips.

“Still beating you, though,” she says. She silently counts three seconds before standing up.

“I’m not saying you’re not.” Clint rolls so that he’s on his back. “I’m just saying you’re off.”

Natasha shrugs, takes up her stance.

He stands. They start to circle each other.

“It’s Hill, isn’t it?” he says, feinting to her left.

She easily sidesteps. Opening on the right. Jab on his abdomen. “What of her?”

There are no bars when they’re sparring and so he recoils from where she hit him. “Well, your awkwardly charming crush on her, duh.”

She drops down, extends her legs to swipe him under before he recovers. “It’s not charming.” He avoids the attack. “And certainly not awkward.”

“But certainly a crush?” he flips, landing on the other side of a railing.

She uses the corner table as a boost. “Probably.”

He throws an iron vase, and it hits her leg, making her stagger. “Or probably more?”

She scowls at him, takes a swing.

He raises an arm to block. “Come on, Tasha. Why don’t you make a move already? I know you want to.”

She knees him on the groin.

He winces. “Fine. Be like that.”

Natasha pushes him on his shoulder, making him kneel. “Yield?”

Clint rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

 

****

 

They decide to go to the common room afterwards to watch TV or just to sprawl. As they make their way there, Clint nags Natasha on why she’s holding back.

“Is it because you think she doesn’t want to entangle herself with ex-subordinates? Maybe we could ask Pepper to find out in one of their girl talks? Do they even talk about other stuff besides business? That sounds terribly boring and I bet th –”

“Just drop it, Clint.”

“But _come on_! Aren’t you at least a little curious if it’s mutual or something?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re lying!”

“It’s complicated.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Why is this so important to you?”

“Because I know it is to you!”

She huffs. “Can’t you just be quiet for once?”

“Can’t you just be honest with your feelings for once?”

“That’s kind of a low blow.”

“You kind of deserved it.”

She doesn’t answer, just stares ahead.

He turns to see why.

 

The others are already in the common room, and the TV is turned on low.

Pepper is with them, seated on the couch.

And standing ever-so-casually in the middle of the room is Maria Hill.

 

****

 

This is the most laid-back she has ever seen Hill dress.

Oh, _gods of Asgard_ – she’s the sexiest person Natasha has ever laid eyes on, and she’s unable to tear her gaze away.

The former S.H.I.E.L.D. Assistant Director’s dark hair is tied up in an artfully messy bun, the damp fringes falling right above her intense blue eyes. She has on a soft and worn-looking navy blue sweater about three sizes too big, the loose neckline exposing her shoulder blades. Her grey shorts are almost obscene, falling just past the curve of her ass, displaying legs that go on forever.

Hill tips her head – and good thing she doesn’t seem to notice how much she’s affecting Natasha right now. “Romanoff, Barton,” she greets.

“Hey, Agent Hill, ma’am,” Clint says, mock-saluting with two fingers.

“Not an agent anymore, Barton. Just Maria.”

“Then it’s Clint for you.”

“Noted,” she nods with a grin. She then stares at Natasha.

Natasha notices the others are also doing the same.

“Is something wrong, Little Spider?” Thor asks her anxiously.

Clint nudges her with his elbow.

Natasha realizes it’s because she hasn’t said anything yet.

“Oh,” she says. “Nothing. Yo.”

That probably doesn’t make any sense.

Hill seems to think so, too. “Are you sure, Romanoff?” She eyes her with concern. “Everything all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Natasha counts to five in her head. (She’s a spy, a professional liar, _goddamnit_. She can do this. She can pretend Hill doesn’t have any effect on her. She _can_.) “Don’t worry.” She smiles (and she hopes it doesn’t look as brittle as it feels). “And it’s Natasha, Hill.”

“Maria,” she corrects and then her eyes crinkle in the corners. “Though… Natasha Hill? I like the sound of that.”

Natasha’s eyes widen in panic, her heart pumping in double time. “I-I just – I mean – l don’t – I didn’t mean to –”

“Hey,” Maria says, holding her hands up – a soothing gesture. “I was just teasing. Calm down.”

“Sorry,” Natasha mumbles.

“It’s okay.” A corner of her mouth quirks up. “Though I should probably take serious offense with how badly you reacted. Was that such a dreadful idea that it took you by surprise?”

Natasha’s mouth opens in bewilderment. Clint giggles like a fucking kindergartner.

“Seriously, what’s up with you today?” Stark frowns contemplatively. “You seem a bit on edge.”

“Flu?” Bruce suggests.

“I don’t get the flu,” Natasha says dazedly. Her heart’s still beating a mile a minute.

“Better be sure,” Maria says, and _oh fucking shit_.

She’s walking towards Natasha.

“And I can’t believe you’re actually capable of stuttering,” Stark adds, and he’s smirking. “Nice work on that, Hill.”

Natasha can’t move.

Suddenly there’s a palm against her forehead.

Natasha swears Maria’s got to be some kind of super-conductor because her touch ignites a bolt of electricity in Natasha’s bloodstream. Then her palm moves to Natasha’s neck, and her eyebrows are scrunched up in thought and it’s the most adorable thing Natasha has ever seen.

And dammit, Natasha isn’t sure how long she can manage looking at _that perfection_ before giving in to her instincts – which are basically to throw the brunette on the nearest surface _and_ fuck the living hell out of her.

Okay. Maybe Clint’s right. Maybe she does have it _pretty fucking bad_.

She swallows, and tries to think of something to distract herself from her treacherous thoughts. “What’s with the attire?” she manages.

Maria hums, stepping back (and Natasha almost whimpers at the loss of contact – _almost_ ). “I fell through a hole and into a pool. Needed to change,” she replies, as if that’s a normal thing. “Yup, no flu.”

Natasha tilts her head to the side. “How the hell did you manage to fall through a hole?”

She receives a raised eyebrow by way of answer.

Steve explains, “One of the damages you and Hawkeye caused.”

It takes a few seconds to sink in.

“Ah.”

Maria smiles dryly. “Yeah. Caught me by surprise, I admit. It works as a decent trap. Old yet effective trick.”

Pepper sighs. “You shouldn’t have covered it up with that carpet.” She sends Clint and Natasha an admonishing look, and she’s really mastered it that they have no other choice but to bow their heads in shame.

There’s really no wonder why Stark’s so whipped.

 

****

 

They watch some HBO drama, and Natasha does her best – really, she _does_! – to not ogle the woman beside her.

But it’s kind of really difficult when those tantalizingly long legs are stretched out as Maria’s feet rest on the low table in front of them.

It’s all Natasha can do to _not_ touch that expanse of skin.

She is _so_ screwed.

With Herculean effort Natasha trains her eyes on the widescreen and tries to ignore the fact that the object of her affections is sitting so close and yet _so_ damn unreachable.

 

****

****

Slowly the others trickle out of the room. Bruce needs to get back to his lab since one of his experiments is apparently due to reach its ideal viscosity (whatever). Steve receives a call from Sam, and goes to meet him in a café downtown. Thor has plans to go with Jane in a planetarium. Pepper orders Tony to “be a dear and make the repairs.”

Pepper reads something in her tablet, and tells Maria. “Hey, your room is ready.”

“Okay,” Maria smiles at her gratefully.

Clint raises an eyebrow at Natasha. Natasha shrugs. Clint turns to Pepper and asks, “Room?”

“Yeah, I convinced her to live here. It’s more practical,” Pepper stands. “So from now on you’ll be seeing more of Maria.” She looks at Natasha piercingly, and _there_ ’ _s a message there_.

Pepper’s maternal instincts apparently also cover her charges’ crushes.

Natasha’s pretty sure if she weren’t _the_ Black Widow she’d be as red as her hair now.

Clint sniggers.

Natasha’s gonna kill him later.

Pepper stares at him – it’s not a glare, per se, but it’s forceful enough that he quiets down. “Go assist Tony.”

“But Tasha’s also at fault,” he whines.

“Yes, and she’s going to help Maria settle down in her room.”

That tone brooks no argument.

“Ugh, fine,” Clint says. Then he jumps over the back of the couch and trudges out.

Pepper looks at Natasha with her piercing eyes again, and exchanges a glance with Maria. They have a silent conversation – and Natasha doesn’t know what to make of it, except that evidently even Maria is not immune to Pepper because in the end she nods (albeit hesitantly). With that Pepper leaves the room.

“So it’s just the two of us,” Natasha says after a few seconds.

“Seems so.”

“Where’s your floor going to be?”

“Above yours.”

“Oh.”

“Is that all right?”

Natasha frowns. “Why would it not be?”

Maria shrugs. “Earlier you kind of gave the impression that you’re… uncomfortable.”

“Earlier… oh.”

“Yeah.” There’s a question in her blue eyes.

Natasha takes a deep breath, opens her mouth. She wants to admit everything, but what comes out instead is, “Do you always dress like that when you’re at home?”

Maria blinks, surprised by the question. She glances down at her body. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” she sounds almost upset.

“Nothing!” Natasha assures her. “It’s just… you know. I’ve never seen you so casual before.”

“Yeah, well, comfort _is_ comfort.” She stretches, and Natasha wouldn’t mind running her lips along that glorious neck.

 _Fuck it_.

Natasha remembers Pepper’s meaningful look earlier, and Clint’s pestering.

Might as well.

She takes another deep breath and decides to just dive right in.

She has nothing to lose, anyway.

 _Now or never_.

“Yeah, it is,” Natasha begins, and her voice is _almost_ shaky, “but if you’re gonna live here and wear that kind of thing all the time then my life is probably over.” She glances away. “And – even if it’s too early to think of this stuff – I kind of like the sound of Natasha Hill too.”

She hears Maria breathe sharply, and she can’t look at her for fear of what she’ll see, and then there are lips on her cheek that are gone too soon.

She finally meets Maria’s gaze and _wow_ – Natasha realizes that she’s really already in so deep with this blue-eyed woman. “Oh,” she says again.

“Took you long enough.” There’s a teasing glint.

Then something clicks.

“The others are in on this, aren’t they?”

Maria just smirks.

“I’m gonna electrocute them.”

Maria stands up and holds out her hand. “Later. Let’s go to my room for now.”

Natasha smiles roguishly, entwining their fingers. “Wow. Smooth. You should at least buy me dinner first.”

Maria rolls her eyes and tugs Natasha up. “Tempting. But no. I’m going to unpack.”

“Ah, so when Pepper said I am to help you settle down…”

“You really _are_ to help me settle down.”

“Okay,” she lifts Maria’s hand and kisses her knuckles. “I can do that.”

 

****

 

Natasha is 99.9 % sure that her heart’s gonna fly right out of her chest if Maria Hill continues on walking over the damn beige carpet wearing that little piece of fabric that barely covers the top of her thighs.

She is also 99.9 % sure that Maria in shorts is a brand of torture especially devised to torment redheaded super-spies into finally saying what they feel.

But as far as coercion tactics go, it’s definitely the best there is.

 


	20. Tattoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Pre-Relationship  
> \- Tattoo Artist!AU  
> \- This is kinda crack, tbh. Sorry. (Uh, no, actually, I'm not.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

“Are you sure you’re doing this?” Victoria asks her, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

“Yes,” Maria quickly replies.

“You know I was just joking when I suggested this, don’t you? I mean, like, you really don’t have to do this.”

“I kind of do.”

“I won’t call you a coward even if you back out now, you know.”

“I know.”

“This is a permanent thing, Maria.”

“I _know_.”

“Okay,” Victoria sighs, resigned. “If you’re sure.”

Maria grins. “I am.” She pushes the door open.

 

****

 

**FURY’S AVENGERS**

**Tattoos and Piercings**

 

****

 

“Stop fucking playing with the knives, Tash,” Clint grouses from his perch on the counter.

Natasha rolls her eyes and continues to juggle three knives. “It’s not like I’m stabbing you with them.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Maybe I _should_ stab you with them.”

“Why do you even have knives here? We’re paid for tats and piercings, not stab wounds.”

Natasha snorts, and throws her knives – consecutively – to the bulletin board a few feet away. She smirks when they hit their mark and form a neat little row across the grinning face of a model advertising a sale downtown.

“Unbelievable,” Clint grumbles, jumping down. “That does not look menacing at all.”

Natasha stands up from the couch. “I figured I’d add a certain criminal panache to this boring place.”

“It practically looks like the den of some Mafia lord already, geez. How much more criminal does it have to be?” Clint says, walking over to the board and taking out the knives. He turns to Natasha and throws them back at her.

The moment the knives leave his hands, the door opens.

Two women are standing before them, jaws agape and expressions shocked.

“Uh,” one of them manages. Her blue eyes flick to Natasha, who has the knives caught between her fingers. “Is this a bad time?”

Clint tries to salvage the situation by approaching them, hands up in a gesture of good faith.

The other woman – the one wearing glasses and has red streaks on her hair – takes a step back.

Clint flinches at the movement and stops in his tracks. “Sorry. Uhm. We’re not, uh, doing anything illegal here.”

“You just threw knives at her,” Red Streaks points out, frowning.

“Which she caught,” Clint argues.

Natasha, who’s just unhelpfully watching them with a self-satisfied grin, holds up her hands. The knives glitter in the light. They look… beautiful. Deadly, yes. But beautiful.

“That was… okay, pretty impressive, but we don’t want any trouble.” Red Streaks tugs at Blue Eyes’ shirt. “We’re just gonna find another place if you’re in the middle of some other business here. We won’t tell anyone, obviously. I mean. The police, or something.”

That startles a laugh from Blue Eyes. “Really, Victoria?” There’s incredulity in her tone. “You’re talking about cops, after witnessing what we just witnessed?”

Red Streaks – Victoria – winces. “Shit.” She eyes Clint, then Natasha, warily. “Are we… getting out of this alive?”

It is rather clear that Clint wants to jump and assure her that _yes_ , _of course_ , _we_ ’ _re not criminals_ , but since she recoiled from his approach earlier, he figures that is not the best course of action. He exchanges a glance with Natasha instead.

Natasha sighs. She drops the knives to the floor. She smiles at them and turns her gaze to Blue Eyes, who is still rooted to the spot with her hand on the knob. “It’s a common occurrence here,” she explains, softly, as if talking any louder would cause the two to bolt.

(Which is a very huge possibility, and as much as she finds this place annoying, Natasha doesn’t want to jeopardize the business either.

And losing potential clients _is_ kind of jeopardizing the business, so.)

“What is?” Blue Eyes raises an eyebrow. “Throwing knives at people?”

Natasha nods. “Clint here,” she jerks a thumb at Clint’s direction, “grew up as a carnie, and he knows some tricks, which I picked up as well.” She shrugs. “So yeah, throwing knives is kind of how we bond.”

Blue Eyes regards her coolly, and Natasha feels herself flush at the attention. Blue Eyes is hot, and gorgeous, and damn, totally intimidating. It’s kind of proving to be a distraction, really. Natasha clears her throat awkwardly, and decides studying the floor is probably the most interesting thing in the world right now, so that’s what she does instead of meeting that gaze again.

She only looks up when Blue Eyes says, “I see.”

“Uhm,” Victoria grips Blue Eyes’ arm. “Maria?”

Maria ignores her. She’s staring at Natasha. “I’d like to get a tattoo now, if you’re done with your bonding.”

It’s Natasha’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?” She’s not expecting that.

Apparently, Victoria’s not expecting that, too.

“Yes, _seriously_?” Victoria echoes and she’s not trying to hide her disbelief. “You’re getting tattoos from knife-throwers?”

Maria, at last, looks at her friend. “What? It’s their thing. I won’t judge other people’s bonding rituals.”

“Bloody hell, they could be like, killers or something!”

Clint squeaks indignantly. “Hey, don’t be like that!”

“Yeah, don’t be like that, Tori,” Maria scoffs, though Natasha can tell it’s good-natured. “Stop being a hypocrite. This is no different from our shooting sessions.”

Victoria takes off her glasses and bows her head, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “That’s…”

“Pretty cool,” Natasha says. “Clint’s decent enough with bows and arrows, but he’s terrible with guns.”

“Whoa, I’ve always wanted to learn archery.” Maria sounds genuinely fascinated. She nods at Clint with something like respect, now. “Throwing knives and shooting arrows, eh? How’d you end up in a tattoo shop?”

“Long story,” Clint says.

“It’s okay, I’ve got time,” Maria smiles again, and shit, Natasha shouldn’t really find that smile so charming. “I’m serious about the tattoo.”

She ignores Victoria’s groan, and merely looks straight at Natasha.

After several moments of considering each other, Natasha finally nods. “All right. What do you want?”

 

****

 

“A black widow,” Natasha states, looking up at Maria in doubt.  They are now in Natasha’s designated workroom. Maria told Victoria to stay at reception – a suggestion with which Victoria vehemently disagreed but nevertheless followed.

“Yup.”

“That’s… an interesting choice.”

Maria smiles at her. (And fuck it, why is there a rule against fraternizing with clients?) “Thanks. I’ve always loved spiders, and black widows are badass motherfuckers, so.”

Natasha hums in agreement. “You know, that’s my code name.”

Maria tilts her head, eyebrows crunching together in confusion. “You guys have code names?”

“Well,” Natasha drawls, “they’re more like, gang names, though we’re not part of a gang. Or the mafia. Or whatever crime group your friend seems to think Clint and I joined. It’s just… a thing.”

“A thing,” Maria repeats. “Like, how the knife-throwing is also your thing?”

Natasha’s lips quirk up at that. “Yeah.”

“How’d you come up with Black Widow?”

“I’m a woman who can kick men’s asses and I’m pretty much the best here in this hellhole, so.”

Maria chuckles. “You’re an arrogant prick, aren’t you?”

“That’d be Iron Man,” Natasha snorts. “Which is a lame name, but Stark’s lame as well, so it figures.” Noticing Maria’s puzzled look, Natasha says, “Stark’s in charge of the piercings, with Winter Soldier. They take turns in the shifts.”

“ _Winter Soldier_. Really now?”

“Bucky’s a dork. Not as huge a dork as Steve, who got stuck with _Captain America_.” Natasha’s voice is full of exasperation and fondness, though.

“Are they on duty now? I only saw you and Clint.”

“Cap’s in Supplies. Bucky’s with a client in the other workroom, I think.”

“Hmm,” Maria nods, taking it all in. “What’s Clint’s code name?”

“Hawkeye, ‘cause he shoots well.”

“That’s pretty cute.”

“What, and Black Widow is not?” Natasha pouts, looking at her with mock-hurt.

“Black Widow is badass, not cute. Not that cute suits you, anyway. You’re hot.” Maria says it in a matter-of-fact manner, and Natasha freezes.

“Oh. Uh. Thanks?”

Maria throws her head back and laughs. (Natasha kind of wants to know what her skin tastes like.)

Embarrassed, and most certainly blushing as red as her blood and hair, Natasha struggles to get on with it instead. (And with _it_ she means _to work_. Damn it.)  “So, do you have a specific design already drawn up, or…?”

“Ah, right,” Maria’s smile is sort of bashful (and Natasha is mesmerized). She fishes out a piece of paper from her pocket and hands it to Natasha.

Natasha unfolds it carefully. She nods in approval. “This is fantastic.” The black widow drawn is spindly, in a way that makes it almost ethereal. Darkly, broodingly ethereal. And there are thorns woven through the webs, and it is _awesome_.

“Thanks,” Maria says, and there’s an odd sort of spark in her eyes. It electrifies Natasha. “My aunt made that for me.”

Natasha grins at her. “Your aunt is bloody brilliant, then. Let me just stencil this in, then we can get to work, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.”

 

****

 

“There, done.” Natasha puts down her machine at the same time that she hands Maria a mirror.

Maria stares at the mirror, reflecting the newly drawn spider on her arm and allowing her to look at it fully for the first time.

“You have mad skills,” Maria says, after several moments of admiring the work of art.

“It’s kind of my job,” Natasha replies, grinning self-deprecatingly. She applies antiseptic on Maria’s reddening skin, then wraps the tattoo in plastic. “Hawkeye can give you an aftercare pamphlet if you want. But, basically, just don’t scratch at it no matter how fucking itchy it becomes, and don’t panic if you wake up in a pile of skin flakes. Chances are they are your own.”

“That sounds morbid.”

“Well, they never did say style comes without a price.”

Maria makes a sound that might have been acquiesce. Gingerly she hops down from where she’s been sitting, and takes out her wallet. She places a wad of bills on Natasha’s table. “Thank you, by the way.”

Natasha stands up as well. “As I said, it’s kind of my job.”

“True, but not all people are good at their jobs.” Maria holds her gaze. “And now I have another reason why black widows are my favourite things in forever.”

Natasha’s breathing hitches. “Yeah?”

Maria leans down to drop a kiss on her cheek, and with a final wink, walks out the room.

 

Natasha’s not able to move until she hears the front door open and close.

Blinking off her daze, she turns to the cash Maria left and notices the paper on which the design was drawn. There’s a phone number scrawled at the top of the page, now.

“What… when did… how…” she picks up the paper, and Natasha shakes her head as laughter bubbles in her chest.

 _Call me if you want to know how_ is written below the number.

 

Natasha certainly will.

 


	21. Udinov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship  
> \- Nikita Crossover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

“Stop fidgeting.”

Natasha turns her head to glare at the woman sitting beside her. “I’m not fidgeting.”

Maria snorts. “You’ve been unable to sit still for the past two minutes. That classifies as fidgeting.”

Natasha glares at the brunette some more, then reaches out to pick up her cup of coffee.

Maria slaps her hand away.

“Hey!” Natasha half-yells at her indignantly.

Maria simply raises an eyebrow. “I think you’ve already consumed enough caffeine for today, Nat.”

“I –”

“ _No_.”

“Ugh, whatever.” Natasha slumps down further in her seat.

A voice behind them chuckles, easily heard despite the din lunchtime brings in the downtown café. “Wow. The Black Widow actually following orders – I can’t believe I’d live to see the day.”

“Yammer on some more and you won’t be living to see much of anything, Niki,” Natasha grumbles without looking up.

Nikita slides on the seat across them, resting her elbows on the table. Her eyes are twinkling with amusement. “Are you actually pouting right now?”

“Shut up.”

Nikita smirks in challenge. “Make me.”

“All right, ladies,” Maria holds up her hands. “The sexual tension is killing me.”

Nikita grins at Maria. “Aww, are you jealous, babe?”

 “Do _not_ call my girlfriend ‘babe,’” Natasha growls.

Nikita ignores her, still staring at Maria. “It’s been a long time. I missed you, Hill.”

Maria rolls her eyes, but smiles genuinely. “It’s nice to see you too, Agent 11.”

“I told you like a dozen times, just call me Niki,” Nikita says with her voice in a lower octave.

“Oh my gods, stop it,” Natasha flicks a coin at Nikita, which the latter easily catches, chuckling.

“What crawled up your Russian ass and died?”

“You.”

“You wish. I have taste, you know.” She gives Maria a sympathetic gaze. “You really could do a lot better.”

“ _Nikita_ ,” Natasha’s eyes could have been daggers with how sharply they are looking at the woman in question.

“ _Natalia_ ,” Nikita throws back.

It’s the staring match of the century.

Maria sighs. “I am sitting with children.” She drains her cup.

Nikita scoffs. “I left _the_ child back at the base, just so you know.”

“Ah, so you’re not the child?” Natasha smiles, faux-innocently.

“Fuck you, Romanoff.”

“Not in this lifetime.”

“Where the hell is Alex?” Maria asks, running a hand through her hair. The young woman’s presence could keep her from tying these two super-agents together in a dark bunk till they pick up some form of maturity. Seriously.

Nikita shrugs. She offers, “The little princess must have been stuck in traffic. She should be here any minute now.”

“How’s she, anyway?” Natasha asks, eyes softening at the mention of one of her favourites.

“Fucking annoying, much like you were at that age – or maybe still _are,_ ” Nikita retorts.

“Oh, please, like you’re much better,” Natasha counters.

“I didn’t claim I was better, just that you were much worse.”

“You’re not really helping your case here.”

“What the hell are you two arguing about now?” a new voice answers – cheerful, and younger. Alex claims the seat beside Nikita. She raises a hand and beckons a waitress over.

“Hello, Alex,” Maria says in obvious relief. “Perfect timing, I’m just about ready to strangle them.” She cracks her knuckles for emphasis.

“Sup, Commander,” Alex gives her a two-finger salute. “I’d gladly help you.” She turns her earnest eyes to the redheaded superspy in their table. “Hi, Romanoff.”

“Hello, Udinov,” Natasha grins, with a slight tip of her head.

“Ugh, another Russian,” Nikita groans, propping her chin on a hand, and it sounds like she’s in actual pain.

“You love us,” Alex beams at her mentor.

Nikita merely grunts in response.

The waitress arrives, pen and pad at the ready. “Welcome to L & L Automat,” she says with a distinct Boston accent. “What can I get ya?”

Alex places an order for two grilled cheese sandwiches (for Maria and Nikita) and two pancake meals with extra maple syrup (for Natasha and herself). “Oh, and four coffees.” She pauses, and adds, “Please.”

The respectful tone takes the waitress – Lily, her nametag says – by surprise, and her demeanor relaxes. She takes note of Alex’s guileless blue eyes for the first time.

“Gotcha, sweetie.” Lily turns on her heels and walks with a noticeable sway in her hips that was not there before.

“You’re just as bad as Natasha sometimes,” Nikita complains, but she sounds somewhat proud of her protégé.

Alex sticks her tongue out.

“And you’re real mature, too.”

“Potato, po-tah-to,” Alex shrugs.

Maria hides a grin at how similar it is to Nikita’s movement earlier. She clears her throat, and asks the youngest in their little group, “So, how’s it been? Empire going steady?”

“Yeah!” Alex enthuses. She pops some of Natasha’s leftover fries to her mouth, ignoring the redhead’s gasp of protest. “The company’s 95% better now, with just a few glitches to take care of. I enlisted Birkhoff’s help for those, and he’s with Michael, so I’m not too worried. It’ll be in full operational capacity in no time.”

“Well, time certainly is not something you Russians waste,” Maria comments, idly.

“Can we drop the race talk already?” Natasha whines, dropping her head on Maria’s shoulder.

“Honour your homeland, Little Spider,” Nikita says, with a mock-offended frown.

“Drop it, Mulan,” Natasha glowers.

Maria makes an X with her arms. “Team Switzerland.”

“That’s too far west,” Alex puts in. “I think you’re, like, Mongolia. The buffer region.”

“Not you too, Udinov,” Maria gripes, shooting a pained-and-betrayed look at her.

Alex’s smile widens, not looking the slightest bit apologetic.

Maria shakes her head, but her lips are twitching up involuntarily. “You really are Natasha’s blood.”

“Hey,” Natasha says, deciding to leave the second round of her staring match with Nikita in favour of raising both eyebrows at her girlfriend, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that your _charm_ ,” Maria replies, the word dripping with equal measures of fondness and sarcasm, “is obviously a genetic trait.”

“Well, duh,” Natasha deadpans. “How did you think I was able to lure you into my arms so easily?”

Nikita guffaws, and Alex laughs beside her. Natasha shoots them a dirty look. Maria bites down on her lip to keep from chuckling herself.

“‘ _Easily_?’” Alex manages, in between giggles. “I specifically remember that a fair amount of groveling was involved in that courtship.”

“That was not a courtship,” Nikita declares with an emphatic swipe of her hand, “more like, they’re own brand of weird-ass mating ritual.”

“We’re not fucking gorillas, damn it,” Natasha kicks Nikita under the table.

“Nope, just women fucking each other,” Nikita agrees, kicking her back.

The two master assassins barely look up when Lily returns with their orders.

“Thank you,” Alex says with a bashful yet charming smile.

“No problem, hon,” Lily tells her, throwing in a wink for good measure before sashaying away.

“Playing aggressive footsies now, huh,” Maria mumbles through a mouthful of grilled cheese. “Talk about weird-ass mating rituals.”

Alex picks up her knife and fork, and notices something scribbled on her napkin. “Oh, she left her number.”

“You still have your game, huh?” Natasha says, feet still locked in an under-the-table fight with Nikita.

“We are relatives,” Alex points out. “Of course I’ve got my game.”

“Attagirl.”

“What do you plan to do with the remaining Romanov ties?” Nikita asks, the question intended for both of them.

They know it, and that Nikita’s asking about more than the obvious filial bonds.

The two Russians exchange a quick glance.

It is Alex who answers, “Natasha is the last surviving Romanov. Our allies are scattered, but they are all loyal to the true heir. They’re biding their time. They are waiting for the heir’s word.”

Nikita regards her friend. “I thought you have no plan to take the reins.”

“I don’t,” Natasha replies easily. “But there has to be an heir. My… _my_ people need a strong hand.”

Maria and Nikita are taken aback by the possessive tone Natasha’s voice adopted.

Natasha continues, “Without the band of loyalty, no matter how secure the foundation, the whole system will crumble.” She looks at Alex, and the proud gleam in Nikita’s eyes earlier is also on Natasha’s, now. “Which is why though I have no plans to actually lead them, I am willing to make an appearance and lay claim to my blood. And I will name Alexandra of the House of Udinov as heir to the Imperial House of Romanov.”

­Nikita gapes. Maria’s jaw drops.

“But…” Nikita exhales, and tries again. “Your House, the Imperial House of Russia, is _defunct_. Besides, there’s a pretender currently on its headship and she has an heir apparent.”

“Also, are we really talking about this here?” Maria looks at the ceiling in disbelief.

“No one’s listening,” Alex assures her. “We have it cased.”

“Of course you do.”

Nikita shushes them.

“You’re right.” Natasha observes her coolly. “But as you said, they’re pretenders. Anyway, that does not matter. It’s not like we’re going to disrupt the current political organization of the Motherland.”

“What do you…oh,” Nikita nods. “I see.”

Maria massages her temples. “You’re talking about the underground union, aren’t you?”

“Her people values tradition,” Alex says. “And the empire does not need the government’s word.”

“No,” Natasha agrees, and Maria smiles at the excitement on her face. “It does not.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fun, I guess. I'm really not sorry. I wrote this (and the next three) drunk so yeah. I'm sorry for mistakes and stuff.
> 
> I swear I tried to like, make this a more serious thing but the alcohol did not agree with that plan so this happened.


	22. Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship  
> \- Dorks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

Maria Hill is late.

She has never been late before, but she figures there’s a first time for everything.

Does it really have to be today – _today_ , of all the days she’d have been happier to be late (meetings with idiots, briefings with idiots, planning with more idiots) – though?

She grits her teeth – hard enough that her jaw muscles tic.

She marches through the Triskelion’s halls with purpose in her eyes and no one dares block her path, lest they be frozen cold by the Ice Queen’s glare.

They may be idiots, but even they are not stupid enough to go against a brewing storm.

 

****

 

Natasha can feel her blood nearing its boiling point.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

It’s Valentine’s Day – well, almost _night_ , she supposes – and she’s stuck on her job.

“This is dumb,” she mumbles. She’s tied to a chair (what’s new) in an abandoned and dilapidated warehouse (seriously, these bad guys S.H.I.E.L.D. has her following lack creativity and originality), and a portly old man with a golden tooth (such a cliché) is hovering over her. His three henchmen stand to the side, gripping their rifles.

“ _You will tell me who sent you_ ,” Porky says in Ukrainian, “ _or I will slice your pretty face with this knife inch by inch_.” He uses tilts her head up with the tip of the blade to emphasize his (boring) point.

Usually Natasha would take her time with them; she’d play with them, even.

 _But not today_.

Today, she needs to be quick.

No sooner has Porky slid down the knife to her clavicle does Natasha pull back, break her chair, and kick him in the groin.

 

In under a minute, the four men have been subdued.

 

A ring resounds in the abandoned place, and Natasha grumpily turns the body of one of the henchmen to retrieve his phone.

 _Unknown number calling_.

Natasha scowls and answers the call. “What?”

“You did not follow the plan,” Coulson says from the other end of the line.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Natasha proceeds to the computers set up in the corner and turns the systems on.

A heavy sigh. “What happened?”

“I got pissed off.” She retrieves a flash drive from a hidden pocket of her dress.

“Widow –”

“Let me do my job now and you can lecture me tomorrow.” Natasha’s tone is curt.

“Just –”

“I’ll deliver the drive in the agreed drop-off place in fifteen minutes,” she promises.

There’s another heavy sigh, but Coulson agrees. “Fifteen minutes.”

Natasha ends the call, dismantles the phone and takes the SIM card, and crushes the rest under her heel.

She finishes up her data recovery – standard mission, but of course _stuff_ happened that led her to being here so late – and burns what she leaves behind.

 

****

 

Phil looks at his phone with a small frown.

“What’s up?” Victoria asks him.

“Romanoff didn’t follow the plan.”

That’s hardly new information. “And?”

“And she hung up on me.” He looks at Victoria, perplexed. “And she sounded really frustrated.”

“That’s to be expected.”

“Huh?”

Victoria’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?”

Phil stares at her blankly.

Victoria sighs, shrugging. “It’s Valentine’s, Phil,” she says, as if that’s all the explanation necessary.

And it is.

“Oh… _oh_.”

“Yep.”

“I lost track of the date.”

“I can see that.”

He purses his lips, realizing something. “Is that why no one’s directing distress calls to Maria’s line?”

She nods, somber. “Three Level 2 agents made that mistake.”

“I think I know what happened.” He heard reports of three agents locked in Basement A-81. When they were rescued, they refused to say how they ended up there, no matter the consequences.

(He should have known the Assistant Director had something to do with that. Really, she’s the only one who would think of punishing agents by locking them in a sub-zero temperature crypt full of extraterrestrial flora.)

Victoria chuckles. “She’s just about ready to commit mass murder earlier.”

 He pockets his phone and sighs for what seems like the thousandth time that day. “So was Romanoff.”

 

****

 

Natasha arrives at an empty apartment.

It’s 8:17. Her dinner plans with Maria were for 7:00.

And yet Maria’s not here.

 

Natasha bodily throws herself on the sofa, muffling her groans on the pillow.

 

She promptly falls asleep.

 

****

 

It’s 9:23 when Natasha wakes up.

She knows she’s not alone anymore. She can feel it, before clues her other senses picked up register in her brain.

(There’s a pair of boots lazily left at the foot of the coat rack.)

(There’s a dark blazer thrown messily on the coffee table.)

(There’s a delicious smell wafting from the kitchen.)

 

****

 

Natasha follows the delicious smell.

(After all, she can also hear someone pitter-pattering amongst the pans and saucers, opening drawers and slicing up what she assumes are food.)

 

****

 

Maria’s preparing some sort of Italian meal.

She senses Natasha’s approach before seeing it.

She looks up just in time to see Natasha stumble into the kitchen: green eyes still bleary, lips upturned in a slight smile.

She’s helpless to smile back.

 

****

 

Maria’s slicing tomatoes and green peppers and other veggie thingies, and all Natasha wants to do is cuddle with her.

She steps behind Maria, resting her chin on the brunette’s shoulder. (The height difference is not a problem this time, since Natasha’s in her super- thick-soled fuzzy bunny slippers and Maria’s only wearing socks.) She wraps her arms around Maria’s torso, presses a kiss on her cheek, and murmurs a quiet “hey.”

Maria leans into her without stopping in her task. “Hey yourself.”

Natasha nuzzles into Maria’s neck, breathing in her smell. This is what she missed today.

(Maria’s presence, Maria’s warmth, Maria’s scent.)

(She smells like tomatoes and green peppers and various veggies and pasta and _home_.)

(She loves this smell.)

 

She doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but then Maria stops slicing and dicing, and she carefully turns to properly face Natasha. She raises a hand to card her fingers through red hair (from scalp to tips and back again), and the action is extremely soothing and Natasha releases a soft sigh.

 

Maria kisses Natasha’s temple and whispers “Happy Valentine’s” to her ear.

 

Natasha kisses Maria on the lips and whispers “Happy Valentine’s” in the space where their breaths mingle.

 

 

 

(And Natasha’s blood really boils this time but because of a completely different reason.)

 

(Maria helps in cooling her down but not before she reaches the sort of heat that would make the sun itself jealous.)

 

 


	23. Warehouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship  
> \- Warehouse 13 Crossover.  
> \- Pre-S02 of AoS; Post-S04E01 of W13 (but like, with HG staying in the Warehouse because DUH. Also W13's S05 never happened, obvs.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

Some sort of steampunk gun is pointed at Natasha. Another one is pointed at Maria.

Natasha is set to release her Widow’s bite, and Maria is ready to fire her Glock.

“We come in peace,” Maria says, eyeing the punk redheaded kid whose steampunk-gun-holding hands are about as steady as a sailing dinghy.

“That’s funny, coming from someone pointing a lethal weapon at me,” Punk Kid retorts. Her voice is far calmer than her demeanor suggests, and Natasha’s a bit impressed.

“You’re kind of pointing a weapon at me as well.”

“Yeah, it’s not lethal,” she checks some kind of dial at her gun’s side. “Yet.”

“They do come in peace,” says the blue-eyed guy also pointing the _thing_ at them.

Punk Kid visibly relaxes, but she does not relinquish her hold on the weapon.

Natasha frowns, confused. She regards the guy. He seems so calm (all things considered).

“Really?” Punk Kid questions him. He nods, and lowers his weapon.

“Okay, whatever, doesn’t matter,” Punk Kid shakes her head, and she adjusts her stance. “Who are you, and how the frakk did you get in? I have like, a dozen firewalls up but you completely bypassed the security and what the hell, who comes in peace doing _that_? And how did you even know about this place, anyway? It’s off the map!”

Natasha lowers her arm, tilting her head. “You’re the Donovan kid, aren’t you?” she muses.

(She heard Skye earlier muttering excitedly about the challenging firewalls this… establishment has.)

Punk Kid’s eyes widen “How… how did you know who I am?”

Maria sighs, and then lowers her own gun, seemingly not caring if there are two kind of hostile forces against them right now. “You’ve garnered the respect of one of our best assets. And I heard a lot about you from Mrs. Frederic.”

“You know Mrs. Frederic?” Calm Guy asks, a smile forming on his lips.

“Asset?” Punk Kid asks at the same time.

Maria chooses to answer Calm Guy. “I do,” Maria shrugs as if it’s no big deal (when in truth it _is_ ), “and she’s kind of the reason we’re here.” She raises an eyebrow at Calm Guy. “You’re Steve.” She waits for a nod. “You can tell if I’m lying or not, yeah?”

Steve looks surprised, but he does answer in the affirmative. “How…”

“Let’s save the questions for when my cousin’s back,” Maria tells him, not harshly but with authority.

“And your cousin is who?” Punk Kid – Claudia Donovan – looks at Maria, testily. (Though she does lower her steampunk toy-weapon. It’s an improvement.)

Maria dissembles her Glock and places it on the round table tucked in the corner. “Myka Bering,” she answers, and sits down. She takes a deep breath. “Apples, huh.” She doesn’t see the astonished and amazed glances Steve and Claudia give each other.

Natasha breathes deeply as well, and she smiles, turning to the two younger people. “Do you have any right now?”

 

****

 

“You’re… you’re _the_ Black Widow.” Claudia is looking at Natasha now with a mixture of awe, respect, and deference.

Natasha nods from where she’s leaning against a wall. She squints at the young woman. “What was that thing you were pointing at us earlier?”

Claudia nearly trips over herself in her haste to show the _thing_ to Natasha. Her eyes are wary but excited, and it’s obvious she can’t quite decide if she’s allowed to approach Natasha or if she’s gonna get maimed if she does.

Natasha smiles at her, then, and Claudia breathes a sigh of relief. She takes measured steps until she’s standing like, a foot or so away (from _the_ Black Widow, _GEEZUS FRAKK_ ). She holds out the weapon, and Natasha takes it, scrutinizing.

“It’s called a Tesla, named after its inventor… uh, Nikola Tesla, obviously. I mean, he invented that but H.G.’s the one who actually brought it to the Warehouse, and uh, well, I made some improvements on this unit. I Claudia-zed it. For more firepower, despite less charging.” Claudia feels as red as her hair now. “Please don’t kill me.”

Natasha throws her head back and laughs. “Chill out, you’re almost as bad as Skye,” she says, and her tone is fond and oh my gods Claudia’s heart is beating so fast, because how often do people actually meet the Black Widow and live to tell the tale?

“Who’s Skye?”

“She’s the one who out-hacked you,” Natasha says.

Claudia freezes. “Out-hacked me?” she echoes.

“Yes.” Natasha seems to be smirking at her – maybe because she can see the righteous indignation looming behind Claudia’s eyes. “She’s the one Maria’s talking about earlier, the asset who respects you.”

“The one who bypassed my firewalls?”

Natasha hums, fingers now playing with the Tesla. “That’s the one.”

Claudia straightens, and she juts her chin, and there’s a determined sort of energy in her veins now. “I’ll show her out-hack. Excuse me,” and then she’s stomping down the stairs and into the winding paths of the Warehouse.

 

****

 

Myka catches a blur of red going out of Artie’s office and into the Warehouse, but she does not pay it much mind.

There are more pressing matters at hand.

“So you’re working for S.H.I.E.L.D.” She states a fact she’s only just learned.

“I was, until it fell.” Her cousin shrugs. “Well, actually I still am, but that’s off the records.”

“And you need our help.”

“We do.” Maria’s blue eyes hold an intensity Myka knows well from their childhood.

(It’s the same intensity she sees every time she looks at the mirror.)

“What exactly do you need us for?” Pete asks, and a few cookie crumbles fall down from his mouth.

“Pete,” Myka pinches the bridge of her nose, “ _Be serious_.”

“Okay, okay,” Pete swallows his food, and then puffs out his chest in a comical display of solemnity – a contradiction in itself. “Serious mode: on.”

Myka rolls her eyes at her partner’s antics. “Sorry about him.”

“Not exactly new around overgrown children,” Maria smirks. “You should see Hawkeye, some time.”

“Is he as badass as they say?” Pete asks, latching on her latter statement as a grin stretches across his face.

“No,” she answers.

“Aww.”

“ _Pete_.”

“All right, but I’m serious about my earlier question.”

Maria nods at him in acknowledgment. “We need some of your artifacts for a little while. The Playground – our new base – is not exactly as equipped as we’d like it to be. An enormous number of our acquisitions have been liberated from formerly secure locations and have found their way into the black market, or worse, into the remaining HYDRA heads.” Maria sighs, and it is an exhausted sound. “Your artifacts… they’d be of great help. We’d only need them until S.H.I.E.L.D. can stand up on its own two feet again.”

“Okay.” Myka processes the information. “It’s not like I can veto Mrs. Frederic’s decision. I hear it’s already been made?”

Maria smiles at her, apologetic. “That’s what I hear, too.”

“How does someone from your organization know someone from mine, anyway?” Myka wonders.

“Well,” Maria exhales, and she is the picture of nonchalance as she sinks deeper into the couch’s cushion, “our former director is kind of your caretaker’s great-grandnephew.”

She laughs out loud at the look of bewilderment Pete and Myka give her.

 

****

 

Natasha feels someone sidle up next to her. “You’re not bad at sneaking up on people.”

“It’s been said before, yes,” a decidedly British – _English_ , Simmons would say with a regal tilt of her head – voice answers with an amused chuckle.

Natasha spares a glance at the woman, who is looking at Myka Bering with unbridled affection. Her own eyes find Maria, and she’s pretty sure she has the same goofy look on her face right now.

“You must be the infamous Helena G. Wells,” Natasha says, eyes not leaving the former assistant director.

“And you must be the infamous Natasha Romanoff.”

“Time traveler.”

“Black Widow.”

“British killer.”

“Russian assassin.”

Natasha smirks, and she knows H.G. does, too.

This is going to be a lot more fun than she expected.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I love Warehouse 13. And I love BlackHill.  
> It's only a matter of time before this happens, really.


	24. X-Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Established Relationship  
> \- Stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

“I am not holding that… thing,” Tony resolutely states, crossing his arms.

“This _thing_ ,” Pepper glares at him, “is a _child_. And you are going to hold her.”

“Nope,” Tony stubbornly shakes his head.

Pepper merely stares at him.

And three…

Two…

“Oh my gods, fine!” Tony throws his hands up in surrender, and then Pepper’s already putting the _child_ in his arms, adjusting his hold to make it – _her_ , whatever – more comfortable.

“Why am I doing this again?”

“Because it’s your fault that chemical got released, and FitzSimmons are still working on the cure, and I can’t take care of her right now because I have to take care of your company.”

“Can’t you just like, call Happy to take care of SI?”

“Tony, he’s our Head of Security. He’s not trained for business management.”

“We specialize in world security. He can handle it, come on.”

“No.”

“Pepper –”

“I said no. You’re being a child yourself.”

“Does that mean you’ll take care of me, too?”

Pepper rolls her eyes and pecks him on the cheek. “Gotta go. Don’t make her cry.”

(Tony can’t make that promise, that’s for sure.)

 

****

 

These were the things that led to Tony Stark’s current situation:

-          Tony was, as usual, running around with things he shouldn’t even touch.

-          Tony was, as usual, unaware of things happening around him.

-          Tony was, as usual, about to fuck things up in a spectacular way.

 

****

 

Of course Tony Stark releases a reverse-aging chemical – completely by accident, because _of fucking course_ – and of course it affects the best-behaved Avengers.

Maria Hill surveys the Avengers Tower medical wing and her head hurts seeing Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, and Thor waddling on the mats.

Because they’re toddlers.

And oh my gods – what even is Maria’s life right now?

“This is surreal,” Natasha says, sidling up next to her and voicing thoughts similar to hers.

“I’m going to kill Tony,” Maria says.

Natasha snorts. “Oh, yeah, if there’s any Tony left after Pepper’s through with him.”

Maria turns to the said couple, a few yards away, and even from here Maria feels Tony’s distress.

“Serves him right.” Maria sighs. “Three Avengers and an X-Man. How are we going to explain this to Fury?”

“I’m not worried about Fury,” Natasha shrugs, and Maria rolls her eyes at the redhead’s relaxed attitude towards the director. “Professor Xavier, on the other hand…”

Maria represses a shudder. “Right.” She looks back at where Tony is now standing alone, albeit holding another toddler.

How are they going to explain _that_?

 

****

 

They’ve had to call in Fitz and Simmons from Coulson’s team to work on the cure, because their very own (raging) scientist has been turned to a toddler.

 

(Coulson sounds amused when she explained the situation. _The git_. If he weren’t already dead Maria would kill him.)

 

****

 

“Hello, tiny human,” Tony says. He smiles.

(It’s more of a grimace, though. He’d know that if there’s a mirror nearby and he catches his reflection.

As it is, there’s none.)

The _child_ – a member of the X-Men, Pepper reminded him in no uncertain terms – simply blinks at him. She looks unimpressed.

(Are tots capable of looking like that? Tony knew not, and Tony knows now that yes, apparently they are.)

He shifts his arms, to hold her better. “Your name’s Jean, right?”

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

She nods, then, “But call me Phoenix.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Phoenix? What’s that, your nickname?”

Another three-second pause before a nod. “Professor X gave it to me.”

“Of course he did,” he mutters under his breath. “So Phoenix, what do you want to do now?”

This time, she doesn’t miss a beat. “Let’s play tag.”

 

****

 

Later Tony will realize that playing tag with a mutant who seems to know what decision he’ll make before he makes them is not the best idea ever.

 

(That’s much, much later though. After Phoenix has made him follow her through every corridor of every floor in the Avengers Tower.)

 

****

 

“Why was that damn poultry-demon even here in the first place?” Tony pants, plopped down on the floor beside Natasha.

The said poultry-demon is clinging to Natasha as she sleeps, tired after all the play she had.

Natasha runs her hand through Jean’s hair, a fond smile playing on her lips. “She came to visit me.”

“And how, pray tell, did you become such close friends?”

“Classified information.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll find it myself.” Tony’s breathing is slowing down to normal. “After I… use the sleep.”

Natasha scoffs. “Yeah, then maybe you can use the Heal to get them back to normal, you asshole.”

Maria enters the room then. “Are you really using that word with a toddler on your lap?”

“I’m pretty sure Jean’s vocabulary is a lot more advanced and she wouldn’t mind swearing,” Natasha grins.

“Fine,” Maria settles herself on Natasha’s other side, and pecks her chastely on the lips. “But no swearing when around our own kids.”

“I promise,” Natasha says, and then she freezes when finally her brain registers what has been said. “Wait, what?”

 

****

 

Jean Grey – the normal one, or as much normal as mutants can get – stands before Natasha in dark ripped jeans and a leather jacket. She has a hand on her neck (a nervous gesture, probably). “I kind of remember a lot.”

“So do I,” Natasha says.

Jean rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“So… drinks on me?”

“As long as you promise that you won’t be turning shit to ashes now,” Natasha playfully ruffles her hair, and Jean pretends to be annoyed.

**  
**

****

 

“How the hell did Tony Stark manage to turn Jean to a toddler?” Scott’s face fills the screen; he connected the video call right after Maria sent him a photo of Natasha high-fiving a young Jean Grey.

“Believe me, you wouldn’t want to know.”

“Where are they now?”

Maria smiles – Scott is as protective as ever. “Uptown, drinking.”

“Jean still doesn’t handle alcohol well.”

“After dealing with a young Phoenix I think we can handle a drunk one.”

“Believe me,” Scott winces, “You can’t.”

 

****

 

It’s not a total disaster.

(On a scale of one to Tony-Stark-turning-Avengers-into-babies, it’s probably an 8-point-O.

 

 


	25. Yarn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Pre-Relationship  
> \- Coffee Shop!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

Maria isn’t blind, and she is far from inattentive.

Of course she notices the gorgeous redhead who drops by in the coffee shop three times a week for a Grande cup of caramel macchiato with two extra shots of espresso.

Of course she notices the redhead’s – _Natasha_ , because by now Maria considers her a regular and to be perfectly honest she’d taken note of her name since the first time she came into this shop – habit of eating blueberry cheesecake when it’s raining. (Maria doesn’t understand how the two are correlated, just that they are. She doesn’t question it. Much.)

Of course she notices Natasha’s knitting bag that is filled with odd bits and pieces and doesn’t seem to run out of balls of yarn.

(She just really notices everything about Natasha, in general.

Maria’s sort of starting to feel like a creep, now that she thinks about it.)

 

(Not that she’s stopping any time soon, though.)

 

(Creepy or not, Maria can admit – at least to herself – that Natasha is sort of her crush.)

 

****

 

Natasha arrives at her usual time, and approaches the counter with her usual smile, and asks for her usual order.

Maria hands it to her, immediately.

“Oh,” Natasha sounds surprised, and Maria’s not looking at her. (She’s trying not to, these days. Honestly.)

“Yeah, came to expect you here,” Maria shrugs as if it’s no big deal. (HINT: She’s not being honest in this case.)

“Thanks,” Natasha’s smile widens, and her green (forest, no… _emerald_ green, more like) eyes seem to shine brighter. (It can burn Maria, if she lets it.)

(HINT: She wants to let it.)

Maria clears her throat, and she can feel the heat creeping up her neck to her cheeks. (Damn bloody facial arteries.)

Natasha hands her the payment (exact change, always) and she turns to claim her usual seat. It’s the one by the corner – out of the way, so there’s no danger of being frazzled by other patrons, but it gives her a view of all their comings and goings. It’s perfect.

(Much like the lady herself, Maria thinks.)

( _No_ , _Maria_ , _don_ ’ _t go there_.)

 

There’s a lull in the shop, and besides Natasha there’s only like, three other customers. Maria can afford to get lost in daydreams for a little while.

(Though, in truth, Maria’s not usually one for daydreams.

She likes to think that she doesn’t have dreams, at all.)

(It’s one of the lies she tells herself – so much so that it’s her truth, most days.)

 

Natasha’s knitting, as always, and the sight still makes Maria’s heart warm after all this time.

(It’s quite a feat; according to most of Maria’s classmates in political science, her heart is made of ice so cold that not even the sun would ever be able to thaw it.)

 

(But Natasha’s eyes, Natasha’s smile… _Natasha is a sun_.)

 

(That’s what Maria believes.)

 

****

 

When Natasha comes up to the counter about an hour later, Maria (very) nearly jumps out of her skin.

“How can I help you?” she asks.

Natasha’s looking at the floor, and Maria wants to reach out and push her chin up so that she could look at those emerald orbs.

(But she doesn’t.)

(Of course she doesn’t.)

(She’s got a crush, but she’s not stupid.)

Natasha visibly gulps, and she slides a bunched up something across the glass, until it’s directly in front of Maria. “For you,” she says, and before Maria can respond, she’s already walking (striding, _briskly_ ) away.

Maria lifts up the bunched up something – and it’s a scarf made of yarn so soft it’s like it’s made of clouds – and runs her fingers across it. She buries her nose in it, and she can almost feel Natasha’s hands on it, can almost feel the precision and care with which this was created.

(Is that girl even for real?)

A piece of paper drifts down from where it’s tucked neatly between the scarf’s folds, and Maria’s heart is thumping against her ribcage in an almost violent rhythm, and she picks it up, and _gods_.

There’s a series of numbers written across the paper.

Maria’s 98% sure it’s a phone number.

(The remaining 2% is her just being stubborn.)

(Maybe.)

Which she should probably text right now.

Or call.

What is the best course of action here?

Freaking hell.

 

****

 

 **Unknown Number** :

Hey, Macchiato Girl.

– MH

 

 **Natasha** :

Hello, Barista Girl.

– NR

 

 **Maria** :

Thanks for the scarf.

– MH

 

 **Natasha** :

You’re welcome.

– NR

 

 **Maria** :

You didn’t have to, you know.

– MH

 

 **Natasha** :

I know, but I want to.

– NR

 

 **Natasha** :

I realize now how forward that sounds.

– NR

 

 **Natasha** :

Please don’t think that I’m a creeper or something.

– NR

 

 **Natasha** :

‘cause I’m not.

I think.

– NR

 

 **Maria** :

Chill out. I just had to calm down my wildly beating heart.

– MH

 

 **Maria** :

I mean it’s not every day a gorgeous lady gifts me with a well-made hand-knitted scarf.

– MH

 

 **Maria** :

It’s… magically charming.

– MH

 

 **Natasha** :

So you like it?

– NR

 

 **Maria** :

Like it? I _love_ it.

– MH

 

 **Maria** :

I mean I don’t know what sort of yarn was used there but I think it’s made of clouds and baby’s breath.

– MH

 

 **Natasha** :

It’s made of dreams.

– NR

 

 **Maria** :

Omg so you’re a dork.

– MH

 

 **Maria** :

Don’t worry though, I like dorks.

– MH

 

 **Natasha** :

I’m not a dork, I’m badass.

– NR

 

 **Maria** :

You literally spend most afternoons knitting cute stuff.

– MH

 

 **Maria** :

That’s like, the total opposite of badass.

– MH

 

 **Natasha** :

You haven’t seen me on a motorcycle, so hold your judgment.

– NR

 

****

 

Maria groans. This girl is going to be the death of her.

 

****

 

 **Maria** :

Okay now I have to see that.

– MH

 

 **Natasha** :

Your shop closes at 7, right?

– NR

 

 **Maria** :

Yes.

– MH

 

 **Natasha** :

Cool. I’ll pick you up.

– NR

 

****

 

This is not happening.

 

 _IT IS_.

 

****

 

 **Maria** :

I’ll see you, then.

– MH

 

****

 

“Clint, I swear to god, if you don’t stop right now I’m gonna beat you up so bad you won’t be able to hold your freaking bow in a month,” Natasha growls.

“What would the cute barista say if she discovers you’re such a bad girl?” Clint gives her his best (worst) shit-eating grin and Natasha can’t help but throw a tennis ball directly to his chest.

“Ow!”

“You had it coming.”

“And by tonight you will be coming.”

“ _Clint_.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop.” He grins, for real this time. He hands her an extra helmet once she’s settled on her Harley.

“Thanks,” she mumbles. She kicks it into gear.

“It’s just so great to see you finally making your move.”

“Yeah.” She refuses to meet his knowing gaze.

He leans in, “Just be sure to use protection, okay?”

She’s not too contrite when she bumps her helmeted head to his forehead.

 

 


	26. Zero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Pre-Relationship  
> \- Set in the same universe as Chapter 5: Emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

“The Widow will land in ten minutes,” Phil reports. “Requesting debrief be at a later hour. She wants to rest first.”

“Request approved,” says Maria. “Mission status?”

“Complete.”

“Physical?”

“Initial self-assessment by the Widow includes two broken ribs, two GSWs, sprained right wrist, bleeding leg gashes.”

“Okay. Arrange for a bed in the medical bay. Relay information to Dr. Goodman and tell him to prep for the Widow’s injuries.”

Phil grimaces. “Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Maria looks at him in question.

“The Widow doesn’t like being handled by doctors. Makes her jumpy.”

She tilts her head, eyes cold.

“She prefers to treat her injuries herself,” he adds. “It’s in her file.”

Maria’s stare hardens, and Phil realizes how stupid it is of him to say that – because _of course_ Maria knows that that’s in the Widow’s file.

Maria knows every letter in the Widow’s file.

She _wrote_ the damn thing.

“Yeah, no, that’s not gonna fly,” Maria says, and Phil’s thankful his head doesn’t get bitten off. (At least for now – Maria’s his best friend, and he knows just what she’s capable of, and those are not things to be taken lightly.) “She’s going to medical.”

Her tone is so final that he doesn’t even try to argue. (Nobody can argue with her anyway, not when her eyes seem to emit their own gravitational field.)

“Okay,” he says instead, already swiping his finger on one of the monitors. “Contacting Dr. Goodman.”

He sends a silent wish that Natasha get out of this with minimal damage.

Oh, well.

 _Tough love_.

 

****

 

Phil is writing in a spare office that he borrows from time-to-time. It’s a rare moment of peace in the Hellicarrier.

But of course those don’t last very long.

“Hey, Phil.”

Phil sighs, but doesn’t look up from his reports. “I told you not to go around the vents anymore, Barton.”

Clint jumps down from the ceiling, his feet hardly making a sound. He picks the chair on the side, puts it in front of Phil’s desk, and straddles it, arms crossed along the back. “I have a question.”

“What?”

“Do you think Assistant Director Hill will say yes if Nat asks her out?”

That makes Phil pause – just for a second, but Clint sees it.

(He knows Clint sees it.)

“What makes you ask that?” he asks, voice measured.

“Stuff. And you’re deflecting.”

“So are you.”

Clint props his head on his arms. “Nat’s been real moody for weeks now. She’s been kicking my ass in our sparring sessions.”

“She always kicks your ass.”

“Yeah, but lately it’s like her movements are different, like all automatic or something.” He pauses, shooting Phil a meaningful glance. “I think that med bay incident really got to her.”

Phil sighs again. This time he puts down his pen and folds his hands on the desk. “Med bay incident?” He meets Clint’s steady gaze.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Phil rubs at his forehead. “Is Natasha planning to ask Maria out?”

“If she is, will Hill say yes?”

“We’re going around in circles here.”

“It’s because you’re not answering the question!”

Phil winces. “I’m not in a position to tell you that.”

“But you think they should be together?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“A-ha!” Clint grins. “So you do!”

“You’re giving me migraine here.”

Clint shrugs. “It’s a simple yes or no, come on.”

Phil looks at him pointedly.

The sharpshooter merely looks back, unfazed.

Their little stand-off lasts for several more moments.

“Okay,” Phil finally gives, “but this is just because I really need to finish my paperwork and I have no time for any more dawdling.”

Clint nods.

Phil returns the nod.

“Oh,” Clint says. “Cool. Thanks.” He stands up to leave.

Phil stops him just as he’s opening the door.

“I trust you know this is off the record, Specialist.”

Clint glances back. “What is, sir?”

Phil goes back to work.

The door shuts close with a click.

 

****

 

Maria finds Natasha draped across the couch in her living room. She can’t remember ever giving the spy – or anyone else, for that matter – a key to her apartment. She’s not even sure how Natasha found this place.

But well, she _is_ a spy for a reason, Maria supposes – and the best there is, at that.

“Why are you here?” she asks – it is not antagonistic, merely curious.

“I was bored.” Natasha is playing with something small; Maria doesn’t recognize what it is yet. “I figured you’d be, too.”

“Why is that?”

“Nothing holds your interest for more than a few minutes,” she answers, straightforward.

Maria makes a sound that might be an agreement.

“What’s this?” Natasha inquires.

Maria’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise when she finally recognizes Natasha’s plaything.

It is a small plastic figurine that she’s pretty sure she hid in one of her old trunks.

“I got that back in 2007, I think,” she says. “He’s one of my favorite characters in the history of animé.”

Natasha sits up straight and stares at her, eyes incredulous and earnest. Maria gets the impression that the redhead is excited to learn something about her, though why, she isn’t really sure.

She obliges her anyway, since Natasha seldom asks for anything, and this is as close to that as she allows herself to be. And if it is information about Maria that she wants, then that’s what Maria would give.

(Maria’s willing to give Natasha whatever she asks for. They both just don’t know it yet.)

“Yeah, yeah, I used to watch animés,” she says blithely while taking her shoes off and shedding her jacket, as if she isn’t sharing something of herself to an assassin. “I especially liked watching them in their original language; the English translations often lack the important nuances.”

“You don’t watch anymore?”

She smiles wryly. “Being with S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t really give one time to spare for such recreational activities.”

“And you can speak Japanese?”

“I’m out of practice, but yes.”

Natasha hums, and runs her thumb over the figurine. “So this is?”

“Zero. At least that’s what that persona is called.” She smiles fondly. “In reality, he’s Lelouch.”

“Which animé is he from?”

“Code Geass.”

“What’s its story?”

Maria walks to the kitchen counter. “It’s about an exiled prince looking for revenge against his father the Emperor. He’s helpless, and he wants power. One day she meets a maiden who gave him that – in the form of a Geass – which enables him to bend people to his will. Tea?” She’s holding up a cup.

Natasha nods. She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes tell Maria to continue.

And so while preparing their tea, she does. “With his Geass he sets about to organizing a rebellion to topple his father’s rule. He needs to do that while avoiding detection, of course, but he’s really determined. He wants to bring peace to the world so that her sister – who is blind and paralyzed – can live in it without worry.”

Natasha is regarding Zero with a thoughtful frown. “But isn’t rebellion kind of going against peace?”

“Maybe,” Maria concedes. “But he’s a long-term kind of guy. And then he learns that his father wants to end the world as they know it, and that he has his own Geass too, so.”

“Oh.”

“He started a war.”

“Did he win?”

“In a way.” Maria brings over their cups. “He’s the paragon of a Machiavellian prince.” She hands Natasha one.

“Thanks,” Natasha says, accepting it. She takes a sip. “The end justifies the means.”

“Yes,” Maria agrees, taking a seat beside Natasha.

They sit in silence for a while, drinking their tea.

Maria is struck by how domestic it feels – just sitting here in her home with Natasha, how effortlessly she can imagine doing this for the rest of her life – and it scares her.

It scares her because she doesn’t know what to do with this feeling.

It scares her because she doesn’t know if it is even mutual.

But then she glances at Natasha’s profile, and the woman whose name is an execution to her enemies seems so relaxed and at ease, and suddenly it doesn’t even matter.

Scared or not, Maria knows that she’s too far gone.

She’s too far gone, and she doesn’t know if she can come back to shore.

And when Natasha meets her gaze, Maria wonders if she even _wants_ to come back to shore.

Because if Natasha’s eyes are oceans, then Maria would gladly drown.

 

****

 

Phil sees Clint loitering on one of the Hellicarrier’s hallways the next day – the Hawk and the Widow have some time on their hands since the intel for the operation they would be deployed on is not enough yet and they are waiting for more – and he looks like a kid who’s had too much sugar.

“What’s up with you?” he asks.

Clint just gives him a mysterious smile. “You’ll see.”

Those are _not_ the most reassuring words Phil has ever heard.

 

****

 

Phil often eats lunch with Maria in her office. It’s a habit they picked up back when she was newly-appointed as Assistant Director. Phil had joked that she’d be able to avoid the crowd in their cafeteria because she’s got her own space now, and she surprised him by nodding and telling him that, “Not a bad idea, Phil.”

They take turns in ordering lunch, and it’s Phil’s today. He enters Maria’s office and sets two Chinese take-out boxes on her desk.

She looks up from her screen with a grateful smile. “Ah, salvation.”

“Seems like you needed it.”

“Yes, I did,” she agrees, clearing up her clutter (or what passes as ‘clutter’ in her vocabulary, anyway – to Phil her desk is always immaculate, because Maria Hill’s kind of a neat-freak and things are always right where they belong).

“Mission gone wrong?”

“Isn’t it always?” Maria sighs. “Four Level 3 agents have been compromised in Mashdad. Needed immediate extraction.”

“How long?”

“You mean how _short_ , right?” Maria grumbles. “They lasted for about two minutes undercover. I have half a mind to wipe out the whole covers sector. The cover stories they’re coming up with are now approaching the realm of Fucking Absurd-heim. It’s ridiculous.”

Phil takes a seat as Maria reaches for one of the take-out boxes. “Maybe we should hire creative writing majors to replace them instead. They are extremely ingenious in making up stories.”

The smell of freshly-cooked food wafts in the room. Maria hums, taking her first bite. “That’s actually inspired, Phil. Write a formal proposal and we’ll pitch it to Fury.”

He smiles. “Hey, if you already approved of it then there’s no need to take it up to him.” He struggles with the chopsticks. “He’d most likely tell you off ‘cause, well, do you see him thinking that staff employment for _cover stories_ warrants his personal attention?”

Maria considers that. She makes a face.

Phil chuckles.

 

Halfway through their meal, Maria says, “Natasha came by my apartment yesterday.”

One of Phil’s chopsticks falls down. “What did she do?”

“Nothing, really. She sat on my couch. We drank tea.”

Phil blinks at her.

“Do you think it matters to her?” she asks.

Phil spears his broccoli with his remaining chopstick. “Yes,” he answers. He eats the vegetable, swallows. “Do you have spare spoons? I can’t eat the rest like this.”

Maria opens a drawer and hands him a spork. “You can’t eat the rest even with both sticks.”

“Depressingly true,” he agrees, accepting the utensil. “Does it matter to you?” he asks back.

“Yes.” Maria eats a dumpling. “Very much.”

 

****

 

A week passes by and Natasha is in Maria’s apartment again.

This time Maria doesn’t bother asking what brings her here; she just heads to the kitchen and steeps tea.

Then they sit the same way they did a week ago.

Natasha is holding her cup with both hands, and she is looking at its content with a focused expression.

Maria waits for her to speak first.

“I think,” she begins. She huffs, and then continues, “I think that’s why you’re so loyal to Fury.”

“What?”

“He reminds you of Zero, doesn’t he?”

Maria considers this. She smiles, softly. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“They’re both headstrong, with serious issues with authority.” Natasha looks up. “And they both use lies and deception to achieve their goal.” There is no judgment. It’s a statement of fact.

Maria nods.

“You’re the only one who’s not afraid to go against him.”

“He sometimes needs to be reminded that rules _exist_ ,” Maria says.

“And you trust him.”

“I trust that he does everything for a reason. That he sees the big picture.”

“You have a refined set of principles.” It’s another statement of fact. “Isn’t it difficult to obey him when what he wants to do clashes with what you believe is right?”

“As I said, I trust that he’s working for the greater good. Our perspectives are different, since he has the bird’s eye view and I work on the ground.” Maria shrugs. “But if he tells me that the ground I’m standing on is cracked, even though I can’t see it, and that I need to jump to what I may see as certain death, then I’ll do so, because I know that he won’t let me fall over. I know that he’s got a plan.”

Natasha regards her carefully. “I see.”

Maria drinks the rest of her tea.

“You’re his Suzaku, aren’t you?”

Maria raises an eyebrow.

Natasha explains, “You’re the one who sees to it that his secrets are kept, and that his goals are fulfilled.” She adds, “By the book.”

At that Maria laughs. “I never thought of it that way, but yeah.”

Natasha looks pleased.

“Wait,” Maria tips her head, realizing something, “did you watch the show?”

Natasha nods. “Yes.”

“The _whole_ show?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Maria is perplexed.

Natasha is looking at her as if she just asked something stupid. “Because it’s important to you,” she says simply.

Before Maria can formulate a response Natasha picks up her remote, switches the television on, and leans back.

And that’s that.

 

****

 

Phil is on his way to Maria’s office again when he sees her in the canteen.

She’s sitting with Natasha.

He feels a presence beside him.

“I hope they last.”

Phil chuckles. It’s too soon, and he doesn’t think even Natasha and Maria themselves know what they’re doing yet. “Baby steps, Clint. They’d get there.” He looks down at the Styrofoam containers he’s holding, then to the archer. “Lunch?”

Clint smiles boyishly. “Sure.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDEK. I just kinda miss watching anime, I think.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
